A Time of Healing: Ancient Wounds
by EldarExilePrincess
Summary: When Dol Guldur attacks Lórien, the Lord and Lady send Amorith to Mirkwood to seek Thranduil's help. But the matter is more than a simple request for help. She must face the past and the rift between her and Thranduil. Can old wounds be healed? COMPLETE
1. Return Home

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of this save my own characters: Arquen, Amorith (Vanimë), Forfirith (Vanië), Olwen, and the group of Sindar. In other words, if you recognize something, it belongs to Tolkien.

**Return Home**

Forfirith gripped the railing of the ship tightly, causing her knuckles to turn white. Her sailing companions gathered around her as they approached the shore ahead of them. Sweet music drifted towards them on the air as they beheld the green shores of Valinor. Forfirith could not help the few tears that slid down her face. This was her birthplace, and she had thought in all her long years in Middle-earth that she would never return, but now she finally had. She smiled through her tears and hastily wiped them away.

She was the only Noldo on the ship, her companions being all Sindar. She watched their faces silently, their eyes wide as they beheld all the beauty that lay before them.

"Beautiful, is it not?" she whispered, and they nodded their heads.

"I was born here, many ages ago." she added softly. "Long have I prayed to the Valar to return, and Eru has answered me!"

They gazed at her in wonder.

The ship stopped in a small bay. Forfirith knew it to be the bay of the Teleri, Alqualondë. Here was where the Kin-Slaying occurred, and Forfirith felt a wave of shame course through her. Her father, Caranthir (Fëanor's fourth son), had taken part in that terrible event, despite her pleas, and those of her twin sister Amorith and their mother Olwen, who was a Teleri. Forfirith recalled how her parents had argued about what Caranthir was doing.

"You are a Teleri no longer!" he told her seethingly.

"How can that be so? My marriage to you does not change my origin, Caranthir." she replied.

He grew angry with her and hit her hard across the face, causing her cheek to bleed. His young twin daughters looked at him, mortified. They knew that their parents' marriage was not a happy one any longer, but he had never before laid a hand on their mother. The scuffles around them seemed to vanish. Forfirith looked at her mother, tears in her eyes. Olwen calmly rose to her feet. She called her daughters over to her.

"Listen, my daughters, hold true to what you believe. You must not let him ever alter the course of your thinking. Swear not to the oath!" she told them, then kissed and embraced each one softly in turn.

"**Ammë**?" Amorith said, realizing what was happening.

Olwen turned and smiled softly at her daughters.

"Know I will always love you, and I await your return here." she told them.

Caranthir glared at his wife.

"Do you mean to say that you are deserting us?" he asked her coldly.

She looked at him defiantly.

"My daughters I am not deserting; it is you who I am deserting. They are both strong, they will care for themselves. And if you do them any harm, then may the wrath of the Valar be upon you!" she told him evenly.

Caranthir took hold of his sword and made to attack Olwen, but she vanished before he could reach her. Slowly, the scene around them returned, and Forfirith remembered the bodies that littered the ground. The waters of the bay were red with blood. She had to hold her tears back lest her father harm her. She felt Amorith's hand grasp hers tightly.

'_We must take **ammë's** words to heart_.' Amorith said into Forfirith's mind. '_We must not succumb ourselves to become like our father_.'

'_Yet we travel with him, so the Valar will curse us_!' Fofirith replied.

Amorith looked towards Taniquetil, her gray eyes misty.

"We can only hope that the Valar will understand our position; we have no choice but to follow our father." she whispered.

Forfirith opened her eyes. The memories were strong now. She had tried to forget them, but they always haunted her. She knew it was her guilt at being Caranthir's daughter that troubled her, and made her feel responsible for what occurred. She felt as if she was a Kin-Slayer herself, even though she had never killed anything save a few Orcs in her life.

Her companions were no longer beside her. She saw that they were disembarking from the ship, and she hurried after them. A few of the Teleri were gathered, smiling joyously and welcoming them. Her ears delighted in hearing her beloved language again, Quenyan. She knew the Sindar did not understand the words being spoken to them, but they understood their meaning.

"**Mellyn**, these are Teleri; we are in Alqualondë. They wish you had a safe journey and welcome you to their city." she told them in Sindarin.

The Sindar nodded, and smiled thankfully at the Teleri. One of them looked curiously at Forfirith. He approached her and asked:

"**Aiya**, **mana esselya**?"

"**Essenya** Vanië." she replied slowly. It had been so long since she had spoken Quenyan, or even used her true name. "That is my true name, but I have been called Forfirith for awhile now."

"**Man ranta nosselyo**?"

Forfirith hesitated.

"Olwen—**ammë**." she told him.

He nodded to himself. Forfirith felt slightly anxious. But he smiled at her.

"Fear not, Vanië. You are known to me. I was asked to search every ship that came from Middle-earth for you. If you would kindly follow me." he told her.

She nodded and fell behind him. She could hear the Sindar conversing excitedly; they had found someone they knew. She smiled to herself.

"Ah, I have forgotten to introduce myself. **Essenya** Arquen, I am akin to Olwë." the Teleri told her.

Forfirith was quiet as she followed Arquen through the city of Alqualondë, her senses absorbing everything. She admired the white marble streets of the city, which seemed to glow with a light all of their own. The mansions of the Teleri were made of pearl. Forfirith stared in wonder at them, recalling from her elfling days the visits she had made to this city with her mother when Olwen desired to see her family.

At last they reached a grand mansion. Arquen knocked once on the door before a servant opened it. He beckoned Forfirith to follow him. The servant closed the door silently behind her then went off. Arquen seated himself in a chair in the hall, watching Forfirith as she gazed all around her, memories of old stirring deeply within her. He knew all about her: who her father was, that Amorith was her twin sister.

There was the sound of approaching footsteps, and Forfirith turned quickly. A strange feeling overcame her, one of deep nostalgia. Arquen excused himself then and left her standing alone in the hall. After a few moments, a lady came into the hall, with Arquen behind her. There was a knowing smile on his fair face. Forfirith looked at the lady and gasped. All the years that they had been sundered had not changed anything in Olwen. Her hair was still silver; her sapphire eyes still lit up mysteriously. Her gentle and caring face appeared all the more beautiful to Forfirith.

"I am home." Forfirith told her calmly as tears streamed down her face.

Olwen moved quickly to her side and the two embraced lovingly. When they broke apart, Olwen looked over her daughter critically.

"But where is Vanimë? Did she not come with you?" she asked.

Forfirith shook her head.

"She did not. But have no fear, **ammë**, she is well. I saw her before I left, and she sent you this." Forfirith said, handing her mother a wrapped package from within her cloak.

Olwen took it and removed the wrapping to find a small but thick book.

"What is this?" Olwen asked, looking at the book curiously. It was silver in color, with the title written in Quenyan. She hugged the book closer to her bosom.

"Vanimë sent this to you so you would know what happened to us. She wishes for you to understand why she did not come with me, though she greatly desires it." her daughter replied.

Olwen handed the book to Arquen.

"And what of your father?" she asked, a slightly bitter tone in her voice.

"He died trying to get one of the Silmarils." Forfirith replied.

Olwen was silent for a few moments.

"I did love him at first, before the madness of those times seized him." she whispered.

Forfirith placed her hands on her mother's shoulders soothingly.

"Vanimë and I both know this, and we were saddened when news of his death reached us. He was, despite everything, our father." she said.

Olwen nodded and sighed.

"Nothing can change that." she said.

Forfirith nodded, biting her lower lip to keep herself from weeping. All the days she had spent in Middle-earth flashed before her, each memory as clear as if she were reliving them. Images of her sister when she had last seen her surfaced in her mind. Forfirith remembered how happy Vanimë had been. Forfirith was relieved that her sister was finally content. She would not have left for Valinor if Vanimë were otherwise.

"Vanië?" Olwen asked gently, placing her hand lightly on her daughter's arm.

"I am fine, **ammë**. I was simply thanking the Valar that I am here at last." Forfirith said.

Olwen smiled.

"Welcome home, my daughter." she told her. "You have been sorely missed."  
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TRANSLATIONS:  
Ammë--Quenyan word for mom  
Mellyn--Sindarin word for friends  
Aiya, mana esselya--Quenyan for 'Hello, what is your name?'  
Essenya--Quenyan for 'My name is'  
Man ranta nosselyo--Quenyan for 'Who is part of your family?'


	2. Into Thoughts

DISCLAIMER AND NOTES: I own nothing of this save my own characters: Arquen, Amorith (Vanimë), Forfirith (Vanië), Olwen, and random Elves. In other words, if you recognize something, it belongs to Tolkien. Quenyan and Sindarin phrases from Also, many thanks to sage-serenity and SofiaB for the warm reviews; I hope this story lives up to your expectations! Forgive the title, I was unsure of something suitable. Any suggestions gladly welcome!

**Into Thoughts**

Forfirith smiled at her mother.

"**Hantanyel**, **ammë**. Likewise, you have been sorely missed." she said.

"**Ányë hilya**, Vanië; there is food prepared for you." Arquen said, handing the book to Olwen. "You must be hungry after your journey."

Forfirith smiled graciously at the handsome elf.

"I am hungry, but may not be able to eat after all this excitement. I wonder if I am dreaming; can this be real at all?" she told him. "At times, if one desires something direly, one will feel that he has received his wish."

Olwen chuckled appreciatively.

"Wise words, **yendë**. I assure you this is no dream. You are home at last, and I am standing beside you with Arquen behind me." she said to Forfirith.

Forfirith closed her eyes then opened them slowly. Then, to satisfy herself, she pinched her arm. Arquen and Olwen laughed softly at this.

"Laugh not at me!" Forfirith said to them, as a smile flickered across her face. "Long and hard have been the years since last I was here, and many a time I thought for sure I would not return. Dark was my heart in those days, like the darkness of Fangorn Forest. Lady I was of that dear place, where the Ents walked."

Olwen grew silent. Arquen's face softened at Forfirith's words.

"Come, Forfirith. Perhaps some food will help." he told her gently.

Forfirith nodded, and allowed herself to be led down the hall by Arquen. When she did not see Olwen, she stopped.

"Are you not joining us?" she asked.

"I will shortly." Olwen replied.

"Very well, then. Continue, please, Arquen."

The silver-haired Elf nodded, then resumed walking. Forfirith took in everything around her hungrily. Everything seemed perfect to her; nothing had fault. Many servants looked at her curiously as Arquen led her deeper into the mansion. She wondered if they knew about her, if her mother had told them about her at all. What did Arquen know?

Her thoughts were brought to a sudden halt as Arquen led her into a dining hall. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before in all of her life. The walls were made of clear glass, allowing observers to look outside as they pleased and see everything. The hall overlooked a vast green lawn, in the middle of which was a large lake. Magnificent snow-white swans floated gracefully across the water's smooth surface, their beaks gleaming like gold in the sun. Forfirith found herself standing by the wall, gazing out towards the lake, her breath caught in her throat at the beauty that lay before her very eyes. A few Elves were standing near the shore of the lake, their hands outstretched towards the swans. The Noldo could not help the smile that stole across her face.

"How beautiful…" she sighed.

Arquen came up beside her.

"It is. I myself have spent many a day standing in the very place you now occupy, admiring the swans. At times, I go down to the lake as well." he said.

Forfirith turned to look at him. They were close together now, inches separating them. His fair face had the light of the Two Trees in it, which seemed to dance in his clear gray eyes. His hair, she noted, was not silver, but rather pale blond, white almost. He appeared to her a very noble Elf, fit to be akin to Olwë.

"Is something amiss, Vanië?" he asked her kindly.

She flushed, realizing that she had been staring at him.

"**Lá**." she replied.

He smiled.

"Well, then, you should eat something now. Afterwards, you may go to the swans if that is your wish." he told her.

Forfirith's gray eyes lit up.

"Oh, may I?" she asked excitedly, feeling again like a young elfling.

"Of course, you need no one's permission. This is your home now; do what you please." he told her. "In fact, I will ask a servant to take some light food out to you."

"**Le hannon**!" she said, then realizing that she had just spoken Sindarin, corrected herself, "Forgive me, I have not spoken Quenyan for many a age; my tongue is used to Sindarin. I meant to say **_hantanyel_**."

Arquen nodded understandingly.

"I thought so. That language you speak of…Sindarin, it sounds not harsh on the tongue or ears. Perhaps you can teach me?" he said.

Forfirith beamed.

"That would be my pleasure." she told him.

Arquen then showed her the door, also made of clear glass, which led outside. He watched the Noldo as she made her way to the lake, her feet carrying her swiftly to the shore.

'_How like her mother she is, yet she retains her own individuality_.' he thought to himself.

"Where is Vanië?"

Arquen turned to the sound of Olwen's voice, and his heart fluttered. He said nothing as she came towards him, his eyes glittering at the sight of her beautiful form. When she was close, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. Olwen moaned softly in his arms, her hands on his chest.

"**Melmenya**." he said, when he broke their kiss.

She gazed up at him lovingly, fingering his hair.

"Your daughter is outside. As soon as she saw the swans she wanted to be with them. I sent a servant after her to bring her food." Arquen said. "Ah, there he goes now." he added, as a servant exited the hall.

Olwen smiled as she beheld her daughter outside with the swans.

"I cannot help it; my heart goes out to her." Arquen said softly.

Olwen smiled proudly.

"That gladdens me; you will be the father she never had." she told him. "I only wish that Vanimë were here, of the pair she is most dear to my heart. Vanimë is like her father in demeanor, while Vanië is like me."

Arquen patted her hands gently.

"Even if she does not come here, she will remain forever with you—in here." he told her, placing his hand over her heart. "Through your hearts, you will always be together."

Olwen nodded and sighed.

"But a mother's heart can only handle being asunder from her children for only so long. Yet, I will not be saddened, for Vanië said that Vanimë is well." she said.

Arquen smiled at her.

"That is wise, Olwen." he told her.

They remained together in the dining hall watching Forfirith with the swans for some time until she returned inside. Her eyes were alight with happiness.

"They are so delicate!" she said breathlessly, easing herself into a chair. "I managed to touch one, and they are so soft! Their feathers are smooth and silky!"

Olwen and Arquen smiled at her.

"They are indeed as you describe them. That is why they are beloved to us, the Teleri. It must not be forgotten that Ossë gifted us swans when we were still in Middle-earth, to pull our ships across the windless seas." Arquen said.

Forfirith nodded.

"I have not forgotten. It is quite strange to be hearing these tales here. They seem much more fitting to be told in Middle-earth, not here." she told them.

Noontime had come. Forfirith, being restless, took leave of her mother and Arquen. She wanted to walk the streets of Alqualondë on her own and immerse herself amongst the Teleri. Olwen and Arquen saw her out the door of their mansion.

"She will need time alone for herself to contemplate. Even though she is glad to be here at last, I can sense something else deep within her." Olwen said.

Arquen nodded somberly.

"I can only imagine what she must be feeling. Happiness, undoubtedly, but longing as well. She has lived in Middle-earth for most of her life now, and it will not be easy for her to forget all that came to pass. I know this well; I see it in the faces of the others. But for Vanië it will be more difficult; her departure from here was not pleasant, and the memories of old haunt her still." he said. "Only the Valar now, and time, can help her."

Olwen nodded and sighed.

As for Forfirith, she managed to find her way back to the port. The ship on which she had journeyed from the Grey Havens lay anchored in the bay, rocking gently in the water. She gazed at it for some time before she turned away.

"This is the last binding connection I have to Middle-earth," a voice said in Sindarin.

Forfirith turned and saw a he-elf standing behind her.

"**Man eneth lín**?" she asked him.

"Numbor **i eneth nín**." he replied. "And you are Lady Forfirith of Fangorn Forest?"

She nodded.

"How do you know?" she asked, curious.

"I saw you when you came to Imladris, and listened eagerly to your tales of Fangorn Forest. I dreamt of going there, but I never did." he replied.

She smiled.

"Your memory serves you well, Numbor. As the ship is your last binding connection to Middle-earth, so it is to me." she told him. "Though I have dreamt of returning here, I feel saddened somewhat at having left Middle-earth."

Numbor nodded.

"It is not easy to leave the place in which one has dwelled for many years." he affirmed.

"Memories are not easily forgotten, be they bitter or sweet."

"Indeed." Forfirith sighed.

She lingered for a few moments with Numbor before taking leave. Their conversation lingered on her mind, and suddenly she felt weary. Slowly she made her way back to the mansion and was greeted by her mother and Arquen.

"I need rest." she told them. "I am weary."

Olwen called for a maiden to lead her daughter to an empty room. As she turned, her gaze fell upon the book Forfirith had given her. Picking it up, she looked at Arquen.

"Let us read this. Perhaps I will find peace as well, for my heart burns with anguish." she told him. "I must find out why Vanimë did not return with Vanië."

"I am sure there is an explanation." Arquen said as he followed Olwen.

Once in the library, Olwen seated herself comfortably. Arquen joined her. She hesitated for a few moments, unsure if she dared to open the book. Who knew what she would learn? Sensing her uneasiness, Arquen patted her arm gently. Her courage returned, and with shaking hands, Olwen drew in a deep breath and opened the book.

TRANSLATIONS:

**Hantanyel**: I thank thee (Quenyan)

**Ammë**: mom/mother (Quenyan)

**Ányë hilya**: follow me (Quenyan)

**Yendë**: daughter (Quenyan)

**Lá**: no (Quenyan)

**Le hannon**: I thank you (Sindarin)

**Melmenya**: my love (Quenyan)

**Man eneth lín**: what is your name (Sindarin)

**i eneth nín**: my name is (Sindarin)


	3. Beginnings

DISCLAIMER AND NOTES: I own nothing of this save my own characters: Arquen, Amorith (Vanimë), Forfirith (Vanië), Olwen, and random Elves. In other words, if you recognize something, it belongs to Tolkien. Quenyan and Sindarin phrases come from Council of Elrond, a website. Also, special thanks to Miriellar for reviewing the previous chapter before it was posted. Someone, I know Caranthir did not have children, but that is the whole point of fanfics—creating your own story. If this is going to anger you, then I suggest that you not read it. SofiaB, for now Arquen and Olwen are lovers. Brownie24, Olwen loves Vanimë more because she is different, but I did not say that Vanimë is exactly like her father, only that she is like him. As for the story being about whom, it will mainly be about Vanimë, but I will mention Vanië when I deem it provides something essential to the story. I do have an idea for Vanië at the end, though. As a suggestion for all, read The Silmarillion, especially the chapters dealing with Fëanor, the oath, and all that happened. I touch lightly on these matters, and do not got to far into them. I tried my best to keep the chronology of events true to Tolkien. As always, any suggestions gladly welcome!

**Beginnings**

The book glowed slightly as Olwen opened it. There were no words; the pages were all blank. Puzzled, Olwen flipped frantically through the book until she came to the last page. From nowhere there was the sound of a soft breeze, and Olwen felt it caress her cheeks gently. She glanced up at the library windows, and saw that they were closed. She turned to Arquen, who had an equally befuddled expression on his face.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked him.

He shook his head, himself unsure of the answer.

"It appears to be from the book." he answered her slowly.

Olwen flipped back to the first page again, this time running her slender finger down the page. All at once, the library appeared to vanish from around them. Arquen and Olwen found themselves seated, in a forest of tall silver trees with golden leaves, high up in the branches. There were boards of wood running from where they sat to neighboring trees, like paths. Night had fallen, for the dark sky was littered with the silver pinpricks of the stars, and the moon shone brightly above them. Music drifted towards them on the night air from below, accompanied by fair voices singing in a language they did not recognize.

"Where are we?" Olwen whispered. "I do not recognize this place."

Arquen bade her to be quiet as a figure approached them, hooded and cloaked. It stopped shortly before them, glancing for awhile at the forest floor below. Then the figure sat down, removing the cloak. The soft breeze grew stronger as the figure began to speak. No words did it utter aloud, but the minds of Arquen and Olwen perceived its words.

"_Amorith is my name, though of old it was Vanimë—which means _beautiful_ in the tongue of my people, the Noldor. I am a princess. No family remains with me. My only sister, Vanië, known now as Forfirith, is in Fangorn Forest. My father, Caranthir, fourth son of Fëanor, died many ages ago trying to recover a Silmaril. The dark and terrible oath to which he swore pursued him to a very bitter end. And my mother, Olwen of the Teleri, is in Valinor. I know not how she fares, since last I saw her was when she left during the Kinslaying in Alqualondë. I have tried to reach her through my mind, but it seems the Valar do not permit communication between the two lands. But I am not saddened; my heart tells me that she is well, though I would gladly see her again if I could_."

Arquen glanced at the figure of his beloved's daughter, and at once understood what was occurring. The book was no mere book, but rather the memories of her daughter; they had entered into them. No doubt she learned this craft from Fëanor, who was quite skilled. Arquen drew Olwen closer to him as the figure of Amorith continued.

"_Long and weary has been my life since I came to the shores of Middle-earth. But even in Valinor, all was not peaceful for me. At first it was, before the lies and darkness of __Melkor stole into the hearts of my people—my father and his father especially. Then, my parents were happy together. They had no quarrels, no arguments. The love that they shared together warmed our household, and my sister and I knew naught but bliss. We would spend our days wandering the gardens of Lórien and gaze in awe and splendor at the Two Trees, from which Valinor enjoyed its greatest splendor—memories that are now tales I tell by the firesides. Many a Maiar we have seen, and some of the Valar also. For where I now dwell, Lothlórien, none here have seen the Light of the Trees save Galadriel, my greatest friend and kinswoman. With her husband, Lord Celeborn, they rule over the Silvan Elves that live here, and my memories to these Elves are like legends of old, dreams that are never to be fulfilled for them. And because of all that happened, all the evils that befell Valinor, perhaps they will never experience everything that came to pass upon me. In a way I envy them, for the burden that I carry within me they will not have_.

"_My coming to Middle-earth was not of my choice; I would have much rather remained behind in Valinor with my mother and sister. But Caranthir my father was bound to his father's oath and was like in mind of his thoughts, and Vanië and I being his daughters, we were forced to follow him. Our mother was able to break away from him, and council us she did against becoming like our father and succumbing to his will. The rape of Fëanor's Silmarils grieved him, but also did the slaying of his father Finwë. Fëanor's wrath and hatred of Melkor was very great, but so also was his desire to come to Middle-earth—of which Melkor had a hand in as well. The many lies he fed my fathers and uncles were terrible, and they found themselves entrapped. Only much later, after much woe and grief had fallen, would they come to understand that all was naught but fallacy, that Melkor sought only our ruin. But it was much too late when they understood that, and each met a haunting doom. Sadly, their oaths they fulfilled_.

"_Vanië and I took our mother's departing words to heart, despite the situation in which we found ourselves. Caranthir and Fëanor ever attempted to dissuade us, but they did not succeed. During the long journey from Alqualondë to the shores of Middle-earth, they did not trouble us much, being too absorbed in the matter that lay at their hands. My sister and I spent most of our time then together, grieving over all those fair Teleri that were slain cruelly. We feared the Valar would judge us like our fathers, and our fear greatly increased when we reached Araman, and Mandos spoke of the doom that lay before us. We joined the ranks of Finarfin, who turned back, but our father dragged us to him, cursing us loudly before the gathered Elves. Pity they felt for us, but none dared to aid us. Only Finarfin dared to speak to our father, and bitter were his words to him:_

"'_Your daughters desire not the doom that you so willingly bring upon yourself. Can you not see? Let them go free!'_

"_But Caranthir merely laughed in his face, his voice echoing that of Fëanor, who laughed at the voice that spelled the doom of us Exiled Noldor._

"'_They are my daughters, and they must follow and obey me, whether they will it or not.' he said. 'I will not have any cowards in my house!'_

"_Finarfin looked sadly at us before departing, and we knew he could do no more. His voice we heard in our minds, and calming and strengthening words did he tell us:_

"'_Verily, daughters of Caranthir, your wills shall win in the end. So long as your hearts remain pure and true, no harm will come upon you from this treacherous oath. Dark are the days now, and darker still will they be. If the Valar pardon me, then your pardon I promise to ask for. You have done nothing wrong and go against your will. But the Valar know best, and in them we must lay our trust_.'

"_Long and hard was the road we took, and some amongst the travelers began to doubt their journey. And Fëanor, sensing this, gave speech after speech to turn their thoughts away from their doubts and fears._ _He suspected that Vanië and I had a hand in their uneasiness, which we did not. We kept to ourselves as much as we possibly could, avoiding our father, uncles, and Fëanor at all costs_._ We remained like this until we drew close to the Helecaraxë_,_ the narrow strait of dangerously grinding ice that separated Valinor from Middle-earth in those days. And here befell the first of the oath's doom._

"_There was great council held by Fëanor, my father, and uncles regarding the crossing into Middle-earth. The Helecaraxë was deemed impassable because of the extreme conditions of its nature: cold, but most importantly was the ice. Like the blades of swords was deemed its sharpness, and the path they made was treacherous. Great thick mists blinded any that attempted to pass. Only the Valar and Ungoliant herself dared to pass through that fell way. The only other choice was by sea, but the white ships seized ruthlessly from the Teleri were not great in number to hold everyone. It was suggested that we depart in turns, and when one party reached Middle-earth, the ships would be sent back to fetch the others. Yet the lies of Melkor were at work even from that hour, and the fear of treachery awoke within all's hearts. _

"_It came to pass that Fëanor stole away with his seven sons and those he deemed most __loyal to him on the Teleri's ships, leaving Fingolfin with his people stranded on Araman. __Bitterly do I recall that instant, as Fëanor and his sons stood on the decks of the ships, their cruel laughter receding into the night as Fingolfin watched us sail away angrily. Oh, how we begged our father to turn back, but he shut us away, and there we remained without food or drink until we reached the shores of Middle-earth."_

Amorith sighed. She was quiet for a few moments before her voice filled again the minds of Arquen and Olwen.

_"Fingolfin_ _finally led his people through the Helecaraxë out of desperation and lack of choice in the matter, so he came later to Middle-earth. Vanië and I saw him only once afterwards, in Hithlum, as High King of the Noldor._

"_As for myself and sister, our story with our father in Middle-earth was very bitter. Endlessly we argued and fought for many years, until, at last, Caranthir disowned us. We knew it was useless to attempt to change his mind, but we tried our best. Vanië did not argue with him as much as I did, as her nature was very much like our mother—quite and timid. It was I who argued with him vainly, hoping that he would change. But his heart and mind were set, and to the oath he was bound endlessly._

"'_Father, you have disowned us and thrown us out of your house, but yet to us you remain our father, whom we will love and cherish only as such and nothing more. Your path we desire not, and ours you desire not. It is likely that we will meet not again.' I told him before we left, with my sister trembling at my side._

"_He stood livid with rage on the threshold of the door, his face red from his intense anger. It was in that moment that I feared he would harm us, as we rode out of the gates. But he did not move. And it seemed to me and Vanië that an unseen force protected us from him, for we could see him struggling to move; yet he could not. A sudden sense of tranquility entered our hearts, and we felt that the Valar had aided us in this._

"_Long and hard we rode from our father's house, not knowing in which direction to go. All we knew was that we wanted to get as far away as we could from our father and those who could harm us. The memory of the oath remained strong in our minds, and our shame was very great. Then we decided upon a course of action that changed our lives forever: we decided to change our names and sunder ourselves from everything that we ever knew. Vanië suggested that we go to Doriath, where Elu Thingol was king, and immerse ourselves in the Sindarin culture. He had banned the use of Quenyan after learning about the Kinslaying, and so we Exiled Noldor were forced to learn the Sindarin tongue. It is not harsh, but neither does it lie sweet on my tongue as I find Quenyan does. My sister also pointed out that going there would help us in our hiding from our kin—they would never think to look for us there. Galadriel, our kinswoman dwelt there as well. So we would not be entirely alone, but we would be safe. Or so we hoped and prayed._

"_Our plans made, we set about our destination. But we knew not the way, and the Valar blessed us with a kind Sindarin archer who took us to Menegroth, Elu Thingol's cavern-palace. Later we learned that our kind guide was none other than Beleg Strongbow himself. We went before Elu Thingol and told him our story, and much sympathy did we receive from him, and he welcomed us warmly into his halls. During our stay in Doriath, Beleg became our dearest friend, and he taught us many things, most importantly being the art of archery and the use of a sword. We even joined his group of guards that __patrolled the borders of Doriath. However, Vanië did not last long—it brought to her mind the memories of the Kinslaying, and so she spent her time safely within the palace walls, learning the lore of Doriath and the Elves of Middle-earth. The more time she spent amongst the books of lore, the more she withdrew into herself. As for me, I enjoyed being a guard of Doriath. There was a certain thrill that coursed within me whenever I used my bow or sword. Beleg taught me many things, and I owe my great combat skill to him. For me, fighting was my way of attempting to forget everything that had befallen me, while for Vanië it was lore learning. My spare time was spent with Galadriel, and we talked long of all that had passed, and in these conversations Vanië sat with us, but took no part in speaking about them. Of the two of us, she grieves inwardly, and does not like to speak about how she feels. Melian the Mai, Queen of Doriath, learned of everything in this way from us, something we did not wish for at all._

"_After awhile, however, we decided to leave Doriath. We wanted to see more of Middle-earth. By this time, our Sindarin usage was perfected—we lost the heavy Quenyan accent. Our names we changed as well. Amorith I became, and my sister Forfirith. We even contrived a tale about our parents, claiming that Morgoth took them, which in a way was true. All trace of our Noldorin heritage was gone, except for one thing that was beyond our control—the Light of the Two Trees. It remained shining in our faces, and seemed to be brighter for all the changes we had done to our identities. _

"_Galadriel understood our intentions for doing all this to ourselves. _

_"'We only wish to hide from our shameful past, but we remain forever Noldor. That will not change, no matter what we do. Look at our faces; the Light shines ever brighter in defiance of our doings.' I told her._

_"'I understand your intentions.' she told us. 'Let us pray that the Valar do likewise.'_

"_From Doriath we journeyed hither and thither throughout Middle-earth, seeing many places and learning much. I began to seek news of our father, Caranthir, and was grieved to learn that he still desired the Silmarils. It was with a sad heart when we found out about Elu Thingol's death in connection with a Silmaril, and knew it was inevitable that our father would soon journey there to retrieve it himself. And, much to our sadness, our father, along with our uncles Curufin and Celegorm assailed Doriath years later, when Dior Eluchíl was lord of Menegroth. That was the second time Elves were pitted against each other, and Vanië and I felt our shame return anew, and in this battle our father and his brothers were slain. Though they could no longer harm anyone, we were grieved. _

"_No lasting abode we kept for ourselves until we went to Lindon, when Gil-galad, who was akin to us, was the last High King of the Noldor. Beleriand was ruined and Middle-earth forever changed. Many Elves, including Noldor, came to dwell under the ruling of Gil-galad. There we remained until evil and dark shadows filled the world, and the Last Alliance hailed. Vanië and I took council together and decided to join the War. Our bitterness over our past fueled us, but so also did our love for Middle-earth. Though Valinor remained dearest to us, our new home occupied a special place in our hearts, and we were determined to defend it. Morgoth was long since gone from Middle-earth, but his most trusted servant, Sauron, now was the Dark Lord in his place, and it was Sauron whom we fought. Long and cruel was that War, in which both Men and Elves fought alongside for the final time. Many a fair Elf and Man were slain; but so also did many a fell enemy fall—Orcs, goblins, wolves, and other creatures of the dark. When the War finally ended, Sauron and his servants were defeated, but at a great cost. For Gil-galad burned from the heat of Sauron's body, and many great lords of Númenor died. And though all thought Sauron to be dead, his spirit endured, and he returned later._

_"Thusly, the Second Age came to a close, and the Third Age had come. Like the First Age, or the Elder Days, it ended by war. Many of the Eldar and those of our Noldorin kin sailed for Valinor when the First Age had ended. The Valar had overthrown Morgoth at the last, and we Exiles were forgiven. However, Vanië and I did not join them, for we had become bound to Middle-earth, and were not yet ready to leave it. Galadriel remained in Middle-earth as well, with her husband Celeborn, a prince of Doriath and akin to Elu Thingol. We stayed with them for awhile, but after some time we took leave._

_"For Vanië, who ever desired to travel more within Middle-earth, heard tales of a great and formidable forest, home of Ents. We journeyed there together, and she set it upon herself to remain there. In later days, this forest was known as Fangorn Forest, and she became its Lady. We had come upon several Ents in the early days of our wanderings, and Vanië was greatly intrigued by them. My sister was amongst those who taught the Ents speech, and now more than ever she wanted to dwell amongst them. I remained with her for some time, but my heart was not set in the ancient forest. I left her only after assuring her safety. I strongly disapproved of her staying in Fangorn, as her environment encouraged her to brood even more and distance herself from the world._

_"As for myself, I relished being alone for the first time. It was not that I hated my sister, but her constant brooding wearied me. I had begun to accept our troubled past, but she would not. She clung to it, and it dominated her entire life. Long I talked to her about embracing it and putting it behind her, but she refused. Now, with her not at my side, I could do what I pleased and think freely. Yet, we remained in contact through our minds._

_"Thus it was that I came to Greenwood the Great at last. A very great forest it was, ruled by Thranduil, son of Oropher, who came from Doriath. I had met him there, and a love grew between us, which I kept hidden from Vanië. She did not wholly love the Sindar, mainly because of the banning of Quenyan by Elu Thingol. For though she partook in the changing of her identity with me, she did not approve of it. How she longed of being her true self, but this also she did not dare to do either, as the memories of old would haunt her even more than they did. I knew she would scoff me if she knew of Thranduil, and so I kept him hidden from her as best as I could._

_"Sweet were the days that I spent with Thranduil. We went together many a time all over his realm, often taking with us his son, Legolas, whose mother was killed years before by the large spiders that plagued the realm. My joy was very great in those days, and I felt a sense of peace and satisfaction that I had not felt for many ages. As the days went by and __our love grew stronger, I shared with Vanië about my love for Thranduil. She was very surprised, and had little to say about this matter. It seemed to me that she avoided it at all costs, almost as if it pained her somehow. But I did not ask her to tell me how she felt. Too absorbed was I with Thranduil and Legolas then, for whom I took a great liking. Thranduil's people began to open up their hearts to me as well, and I felt secure amongst them. I felt as if I had my home at last, and I did not want to lose it._

_"But my blissful days did not last forever. It seems that I am doomed for a life of suffering. Thranduil announced his intention of wedding me. Preparations began for the ceremony, and I recall informing Vanië. She was quiet as I told her everything, and I detected a slight sadness when I informed her of my decision to tell Thranduil of my real self. Our love now had grown strong, and I deemed that it was time he knew._

_"'Vanimë, my heart warns me against you telling him.' she told me._

_"I_ _remember laughing at her, dismissing her worry._

_"'That is the brooding in you that speaks!' I told her angrily._

_"'So it may be, but I fear for you if you tell him.' she replied._

_"Then all my bitterness spilled forth, and I told her of how she had wearied me with her constant mourning of the past and lack of willingness to release it from her thoughts. She was silent as my words poured heatedly into her mind, and at that moment I did not care if we ever spoke again. She merely warned me again softly before we broke connection._

_"Ai, if only I harkened to her words, then I would have spared myself much grief! For it was then that I realized how alike I am to my father in demeanor. I had to humble my pride when I apologized later to Vanië, and though she was angry with me, she forgave my folly. For though I am like my father in manner, she is like Olwen, our mother._

"_The days following the doomed talk I had with Thranduil about my true identity were spent in Lothlórien, where Galadriel and Celeborn now dwelt as Lord and Lady of the fair Golden Wood. Pity me they did, Galadriel mostly. It pained me now to look upon them, she a Noldo, and he a Sindarin prince of Doriath, and wish that the same happened between Thranduil and me. I grieved gravely for my lost love, and, like when I was with Beleg, I joined the Marchwarden of Lothlórien. My heart now was bitter, and I fueled my hatred and anger towards the enemies of the Golden Wood. Fell and deadly I became, and my fellow Marchwardens feared my wrath lest it should consume me. Lady Galadriel counseled me many times, but my mind was set. I had taken too much hurt to deal with."_

Amorith stopped, turning her head towards Arquen and Olwen, and they saw silver tears falling down her face. In her eyes they read her deep pain. But she continued.

_"I cannot help but feel that this is my own doom because I came with Caranthir, my father. I know not what the coming days will bring, for a dark shadow has consumed the world. The Nine Walkers have gone to rid Middle-earth of the Ring, passing only months before through here. It was then that I knew how much time had passed since last I saw Thranduil, for Legolas is no longer an elfling, but a full-grown Elf. His beauty reminded me of Thranduil, and my longing returned anew. Lothlórien ages not like the remainder of the lands, and this is due to Galadriel's Ring, Nenya. But now we feel the change that affects Middle-earth, and its strength affects us also. The borders of the Golden Wood are watched ever more carefully, for we feel that an assault will occur soon, and we must be prepared. I know not what possessed me to start preserving my memories in this book, but perhaps it is my weariness of all that has come to pass, and of what is to come. The coming days look grim, and I know not if I will be able to record anything more. My only hope is that the Valar will look after me, as they always have done."_

As she finished, the Noldo princess rose from her place. After drawing her hood over her head, she donned her cloak. Her gray eyes pierced the darkness as she looked once more at the place where Arquen and Olwen were seated, almost as if she knew they were there. A sad smile slowly crept across her fair face. She raised her hands, and Arquen and Olwen found themselves back in their library. The nighttime woods had vanished as suddenly as it had come. The book in Olwen's lap glowed once before it lay still in her lap, and the breeze stopped. The memory had ended.


	4. Poolside Problem, Talan Trouble

DISCLAIMER AND NOTES: There are references to events that can be found in the appendices of RotK. This chapter has been modified from its original content to suit the new direction of the story. Chapter re-uploaded 9/3/11.I own nothing of this save my own characters: Arquen, Amorith (Vanimë), Forfirith (Vanië), Olwen, and random Elves. In other words, if you recognize something, it belongs to Tolkien. Míriel's name changed to Celemirë.

**Poolside Problem, Talan Trouble**

The surface of the pool broke violently as a head shot out cleanly through. There was a moment's pause before a startled scream escaped the lips of the woman.

"Haldir!" she exclaimed.

Haldir the Marchwarden absently glanced at the form of Amorith from the flet far above her, only her dark head visible above the water. His brothers, Rúmil and Orophin, had seized the neat pile that Haldir assumed to be Amorith's clothing. They both had impish smiles on their faces and their eyes glittered.

"Did not Haldir tell you I was here?" she asked them.

"I regret to say that he did not, as we did not give him the opportunity to do so." Orophin said.

She eyed them heatedly.

"Have you no regards for the personal decency of a lady? May I remind you that I am not only a lady, but a very skilled warrior as well," she said. "But if that does not suit you, then perhaps once I call Haldir he can see that this nuisance of a problem is sorted out."

Orophin continued to smirk at her.

"If you continue standing there, I shall come after you myself," she added.

"Without clothing? I do not think that is highly proper of one in your place," he told her.

And Rúmil held out her clothes, an innocent smile in his blue eyes.

"Do not lecture me on what is proper and what is not," Amorith said.

Haldir turned away from the scene below him. He knew he ought to reprimand his brothers, but he would not let this opportunity slip from Amorith's grasp. He felt that whatever punishment he gave them she would find something better suited to their needs. Their voices faded as he let his mind rove elsewhere, to a similar time, one as full of innocence and mischief as was now occurring at the pool.

It had been many centuries ago. The world then was not as it was now, so full of evil and uncertainty openly. Though the Dark Lord was hidden then in his fortress of Dol Guldur, of which no one knew until much later, there was much strife present for the Free People of Middle-earth. His fell Darkness, which had spread northward into Eryn Galen, caused the woodland realm of Thranduil to be known as Mirkwood. Even the Elves of Lórien felt the darkness, and receded further into the shelter of Caras Galadhon and their Lord and Lady's protection. While there was so much grief and hopelessness, for Haldir, it was a time of joy and love. He was not deaf to the burdens of the world, for his duties as a border guard taught him that there were indeed evil creatures at work in the night. But he did not allow his heart to solely dwell on these troubles; for in Lórien there was a reason for him to have a lighter heart than those around him. Because of this he managed to find light where there was dark, to fight courageously and with passion when there was despair, and to tread lightly on the ground where others stumbled. He had first seen her on the eve of midsummer, returning from a journey to Imladris, having been part of an escort for the Lady Arwen. After her mother, Celebrían, daughter of the Lord and Lady of Lórien, was injured by a poisonous Orc arrow, Elrond did not wish to take any risks and implemented all precautions necessary. The path from Imladris to Lórien was no longer safe through the Misty Mountains.

Haldir had arrived, his body exhausted from travel and constant vigilance the entire way after escorting Lady Arwen safely to her father's house, and there Haldir had spent the night, before leaving early the following morning with his company. Though this was not necessary, and after refuting Lord Elrond's countless attempts to prolong his stay and rest, Haldir had nonetheless started his travel homeward. He did not enjoy being away from his brothers, despite that Imladris refreshed his spirits in such a manner. His men did not relinquish their complaints at having been ushered out of Imladris in such a hurry, but he had not relented, and they had soon given up, knowing their efforts would be fruitless.

"Brothers, how I have missed you," he said, embracing them.

It was during this embrace that he noticed her. She was dancing upon the green lawn, eyes closed, arms outstretched above her. The stars sparkled upon the gems she wore on her brow and neck, and her hair was like a river cascading down her back. She was clad in blue, with a delicate silver filigree belt about her waist. Never in his life had he seen such spirit, and he was in awe. He released himself from the embrace, sitting on the grass, enthralled by the scene before him. What he felt, however, he hid deep within, so that when his brothers joined him, they did not know what seed had been planted in their brother's heart. He appeared as any other, enjoying the festivities of the night.

It took much stealth to keep the matter of the lady hidden from his brothers. He was not ashamed of what he felt, or afraid of what they would think, he only wanted to keep her safe. She seemed not to be troubled by anything, innocent, pure. Though she had beauty, it was her spirit and energy that he had found most desirable. There were many other maidens he had seen with thrice her beauty, but they did not possess the qualities she had. Over the course of several months, Haldir was able to keep watch over this maiden, never straying into her path, but looking after her from afar, careful to not disturb her. He was content in the knowledge that she would not know him even if they met. So it happened that one day, taking a swim in the very same pool Amorith was in, she cornered him.

"Haldir…"

The border guard turned to see the maiden standing opposite him, a smile on her face, his clothing in her hands. He treaded water, unsure of what to do.

"I asked myself why the trees around my flet were sparse in certain areas of their leaves. I thought them to be diseased, still when I took it upon myself to examine them I found no signs of disease. This was puzzling to me exceedingly, so I examined the branches, yet still there was nothing."

She spoke in a soft voice, like that of a small warbling bird.

"It was not until I searched the ground below the trees that I was rewarded," she said, holding up his belt, turning it over so his name shown clearly to him. "I learned that it belonged to one of the most esteemed border guards, yet why would it be in such a place?"

Haldir was silent.

"Perhaps the border guard found inspiration to observe the borders within?" she jested.

Haldir felt her eyes staring intently at him. He was ensnared fully now.

"Are you always so silent? No matter, since you enjoy yourself in the trees…"

She retreated silently. When he could no longer hear her soft footsteps, he emerged from the pool, heading towards the spot she had disappeared. He found his clothing high above in the branches, strewn about. It took him some time to retrieve his clothing, as she had chosen branches that posed a slight problem to his lack of decency. As he climbed, he smiled. This maiden had sought to teach him a lesson, which she had. She had proved more cunning than him. He was no longer the hunter, but rather the prey. Finally, he reached for his belt, but a flash of light caught his attention. There, on the end, she had secured a single curly lock of hair from her fair head.

The sound of approaching footsteps ended his reverie.

"I have been so kindly relieved of my watch duties tonight by your brothers."

Amorith stood on the flet, eyes dancing with delight. Haldir stifled the laugh, knowing that his brothers had truly paid for their small mischief earlier.

"If you do not mind, I wish to take my leave for the night. Depend upon my return the next morning."

Haldir glanced at her, noting the way she spoke now, quietly.

"You know the laws laid by the Lord and Lady, that no one is to travel alone, specifically this close to the borders," he said, turning so that she did not see him tuck something into his belt.

"You cannot stop me, Haldir. And I do not fear the Lord or Lady," she replied.

They were interrupted by shouts from below. Amorith left before he could protest anymore. Haldir saw in which direction she was headed before going down to his brothers.

"Lord Celeborn indicated that we should head east, across the river from where the border of Dol Guldur lies. There are increasingly worryingly reports about strange movements there. He asked we remain there for this night at least and see what we can learn." Orophin said.

Haldir nodded.

"Very well, then. You head east with Rúmil. I will remain here for tonight." he said.

"And Amorith?" Orophin asked, to which Haldir nodded.

He watched as his brothers moved swiftly over the ground, racing one another. They were so close to each other, he envied them at times. After offering a silent prayer of protection for his brothers, Haldir turned away. His thoughts went back to Amorith. No matter what she had said, he could not abandon so lightly the laws of his Lord and Lady. Although he felt that Amorith would unlikely come to harm, there was something else that pulled him to follow her tonight. Since her arrival in the Golden Wood, Haldir had observed her. She was silent and withdrawn, taking little pleasure in the company of others save that of the Lady. Lord Celeborn had introduced her as kinswoman to Galadriel, and her history was brief and concise: she had dwelled with them in Doriath, and since its ruin has been travelling throughout the lands. Rumors soon followed her arrival, and there were some who were uneasy about her presence. Yet she remained silent when questioned, repeating that she had come from Mirkwood.

Her tracks proved not at all difficult to find, as if she suspected none to follow her. There seemed to be a little path winding through the trees, skirting close to the river, but never fully visible. He caught sight of her after travelling an hour, the gleam of her brown hair dark against the gold of the mallorn. Amorith moved slowly, arms outstretched on either side of her, head cocked to one side, as if held in rapture. Haldir felt vulnerable suddenly, and began to backtrack, but the sound of a snapping twig beneath his feet gave him away. Amorith's head snapped around, and her eyes locked onto his.

"I find myself wondering what a border guard such as yourself can find so threatening from a lady's desire for solitude," she said, unpleased with having been followed.

"And I find myself wondering why a border guard such as yourself dares to defy the laws of the Lord and Lady, indeed appears so careless and rash." Haldir replied evenly.

"I have business here, and I ask you to kindly leave me alone. I do not wish for interference in my personal affairs," Amorith said, turning to leave, but Haldir caught hold of her arm.

"These woods are not safe anymore. My duty is to carry out the wishes of my Lord and Lady."

They stared at each other, Amorith with such vehemence and Haldir with firmness and unyielding. She hated these Silvans; if it was not for Galadriel they would not be as carefree as they were now. The Lady had made their home one of the fairest and most formidable of all the elven realms. As she continued her glare, she felt the gaze of Haldir pierce through her, diminishing her. She knew then he would not relent, and as she withdrew her arm from his grasp, she bowed.

"If you insist, my one request is that you tell no one of this, not even the Lord and Lady," she said.

Haldir nodded, and the feeling he had earlier returned, and in her gray eyes there was something he could not fathom. His free hand grasped the lock of hair entwined in his belt, and with the other he placed over his heart, promising her that whatever would happen remained a secret between them. Slightly satisfied, but dissuaded at being followed, Amorith continued on the path, Haldir following a few steps behind her. He had neither been this close to Amorith before nor alone with her, having only seen her from afar, or when they were among the other guards. She was as ethereal as Lady Galadriel was, but in her countenance there was a masked pride, and in her eyes he had read pain. The rumors he had heard concerning her told of a terrible curse and some had felt she could not be trusted. But the Lady Galadriel neither refuted nor affirmed these accusations, and so the Silvans had regarded her with a kind of distant mystery. Only a few of the advisors seemed to know her true story, but whether under orders from the Lord and Lady, or of their own will, no one spoke a word.

"I know of the rumors surrounding me, Haldir, and I beg you not to trust everything you hear. If the Lady felt I posed a danger, she would not have allowed me to make abode here." Amorith spoke, and Haldir knew she had read the workings of his thoughts.

They were stopped now, face to face once more. Amorith pointed above, where he could discern the outline of a talan. She made her way to the tree, moving her fingers deftly until she pulled down a rope, which brought into view a hithlain woven staircase encircling the tree's girth. Amorith led the way again. Higher and higher they climbed, until at last the path through the trees was hidden from view. They had entered the talan now, and Haldir took everything in. It was decorated in green and brown furnishings, and seemed fit for a king. It appeared that whoever used this talan used it as a retreat. His attention was drawn to Amorith, who stood by the richly carved wardrobe and seemed entranced by the robes that hung within it. She fingered the material gently.

"This talan once belonged to King Thranduil, gifted to him by the Lord and Lady. He would come here with his lady when they had the luxury of time to spend away from the palace. This was before the silence fell between the two kingdoms," she said. "Here they knew only peace and comfort."

Haldir felt his chest constrict. So much time he had spent traversing across the expanses of the Golden Wood, and never had he found this place. Although he had reserved opinions about the King, his concern was whether or not this talan had been used by others, more prone to evil than good.

"I can still feel the presence here, the scent still lingers…" she was whispering, completely oblivious to the fact that Haldir was watching her.

The Noldo left the wardrobe and walked over to the bed stand, where a brush lay. She brushed the thick layer of dust that covered the handle and turned it over. She plucked at the few strands of golden hair that were entrapped in the bristles.

"Have you ever seen him, Haldir, in the fall, with the crown of red berries atop his great golden head? And his robes of deep green, with those wonderful sapphire eyes of his?" she asked. "Have you ever seen him? Have you, Haldir? Oh, such a glorious sight he is to behold then!"

Haldir shook his head slowly, feeling bemused. The Noldo's gray eyes were glazed as her mind took her over entirely.

"He said he loved me, he promised to wed me, did you know that?" Amorith continued.

And then Haldir knew. Amorith was the one who had spent time here with the King; this talan held memories of Thranduil for her. That explained why everything was green and brown, why she buried her head in the robes and inhaled deeply. This talan once belonged to Thranduil, and it had belonged to her as well.

The Silvan Elf was suddenly aware that the Noldo princess was on her feet, that the comb lay beneath her feet, and that she was crushing it, as she screamed madly into the night:

"And he lied to me! Everything he told me was a lie!"

Haldir had never seen Amorith without control like this before. He watched wordlessly as she slammed her fist into the mirror, causing the glass to shatter into numerous pieces and cut her. But she ignored her wounded fists and continued on her path of destruction. Nothing escaped her fury: the wardrobe was thrust onto its side, the table overturned, the bed was flung aside. Haldir finally managed to summon enough courage to hasten to Amorith and pin her arms behind her.

"Amorith, you must stop." he told her.

Amorith's breathing was labored and came in heavy gasps as she looked at Haldir.

"Will he wed me? He does love me, does he not?" Amorith wept, losing her strength.

"I do not know," Haldir answered, and he felt within him a vile hatred.

Amorith's eyes glazed over and she slid to the talan floor. Haldir knelt beside her, stroking her hand. The Noldo was resting, and only the Valar knew how much she needed it.

Haldir sat beside her, resting his weary head in his hands. The feeling that made him follow her he now knew its cause: guilt. He had thought of his maiden earlier in the day. He removed the lock of hair from his belt, its golden hue shining in the moonlight. His tears came thickly, dampening Amorith's brow. Their fates were now entwined in a manner that could be called coincidental to an outside observer, but for Haldir it meant something deeply emotional and fulfilling, almost as if it was a sign from the Valar. Long had he prayed to them fervently to show him an answer, to rid him of the pain he carried, the fire within that refused to cool. How he had loved her, even after she had accepted the King's offer, and left him suffering silently. How often his gaze would linger towards Mirkwood, and feeling the anger rise in him, quell himself by wishing her and her King nothing but happiness. But he felt robbed, cheated, knowing that she knew of his desires, accepting his attentions while entertaining the King's offers. In time, he came to think of her less and less, until he desired another, someone as equal to the King. Amorith had filled the space in his heart left behind by his maiden. Bearing in mind the warnings of Lady Galadriel, Haldir again prayed to the Valar for the strength he needed. Amorith would prove to be a challenge, but once again, he was the silent deadly hunter. With a sigh, he let go of the golden lock, allowing the cool night breeze to wash over him.


	5. Meaningful Memories

DISCLAIMER AND NOTES: I own nothing of this excepting my own characters: Arquen, Amorith (Vanimë), Forfirith (Vanië), Olwen, and Celemirë. In other words, if you recognize something, it belongs to Tolkien. Quenyan and Sindarin phrases come from the site Council of Elrond. The first italicized section is what Amorith narrates via her diary.

**Meaningful Memories**

_The sight of the talan that Thranduil had been gifted as a retreat for both of us loomed ahead of me, inviting me and sickening me at the same time. I know not what brought me here this night, especially since I was being accompanied by Haldir. The river and the opposite shore could be seen just as clearly from any of the guard talans nearby, but something drew me here. I knew it was my own feelings that were overpowering my senses, as they cried out for the bliss that I shared here once with my lover. A part of me still hoped that he would be standing alone on the threshold, his chest bare to the nightly gentle breeze, one hand holding a goblet of wine, the other holding the heavy black impenetrable screen aside for me as I stepped into our talan. His fair face would grace me with one of his most charming smiles, and I was the only one invited to see this side of him. Legolas would be already resting in the far corner; Thranduil would be sure that he would._

_As soon as I entered the talan, the present world melted away from me. I saw him waiting for me in the bed, his gaze one of seduction and power. But as soon as I stretched my hand towards him, he vanished, and I was left with the realization that he was naught but a memory, forever present in my mind, forever taunting me. Haldir entered behind me and I saw him vaguely as he looked around his new surroundings with interest. I wondered if he knew what this talan meant to me, what wonderful times I had spent here. He did not know about Thranduil, about this talan. Part of me wanted to cast him out, for he was standing in a place that was quite sacred to me. He should not be the one standing there on the threshold, but my lover, my king, my Thranduil._

_My eyes roved over the familiar place, taking in all the details, which, over time, had become dull in my mind. The screens were still there, not disturbed, but covered with a layer of dust. The table with the golden goblets and plates lay as always upon the table, ready for our next feast. And little Legolas' silver plate and goblet sat at the end. Even these were covered with dust. In fact, everywhere I looked, I saw dust. If time had not taken a toll in my mind about my memories here, it had left its clear truth here. And when I looked at everything again, I saw the mark of time: the colors of the furnishings' fabrics were faded, the gold and silver tarnished at the edges. And then I recalled the time that I had seen Legolas when he had arrived with the Fellowship. Only then was I forced to accept that much time had passed. And here in my talan I was forced to accept it again._

_The wardrobe alone seemed untouched by time, except for its own layer of dust. I moved towards it slowly, unsure of what I would find inside. My knowledge of Haldir's presence here with me in my cherished talan diminished as I focused on the wardrobe. Carefully I opened it and saw my dresses hanging alongside his robes, tunics, and leggings. At the very end was a small section devoted to Legolas' attire, and my heart ached to hold that small elfling again in my arms, that elfling whom I loved and whom regarded me as his own. I buried my head in Thranduil's robes. If I could not physically be with him, then his scent would have to suffice for me. My sense of smell was reeling with the strong whiff of his scent, and it made me giddy, almost making me drunk. For this was the scent that my nose so eagerly longed for every night, of which I was now robbed._

_I recall saying aloud, "I can still feel the presence here, the scent still lingers…"_

_It was important for me to say this. Because it was true, despite the fact that he was not present in flesh, in my mind he was here in the talan with me, which was all that I needed._

_I felt a somewhat uncomfortable silence and knew that Haldir was still there with me. I knew that I must have looked mad, but I needed to do this. I needed my swelling desire to be quenched somehow. For all these long years I kept it hidden, but it was becoming unbearable to do so any longer. At least this was a chaste way of satisfying myself._

_I moved to the bed next, where earlier I had seen Thranduil sitting—as a memory of course. But I so desperately wanted it to be true. I knew that if one desired something direly, it would happen, even if it was but an illusion. And, I must confess, at that moment I would have been content if indeed an illusion of Thranduil had appeared and spoken to me. I was ready to do anything to see him, even an illusion. I was that desperate, and I also knew that I was leaving my saneness and was at the very end of my wits._

_I looked next to me at the bed stand. And there upon it was our hairbrush, the one that both Thranduil and I used. It was a very ornate hairbrush; the handle was made of ivory and set with small pearls. It glittered when the sunlight caught it. The bristles were made of mithril, but they did not hurt when we brushed. A rather thick layer of dust coated the handle, and somewhat angrily I rubbed it off. As I gazed fondly down upon it, I saw a few slivers of gold glinting back at up me in the moonlight, and I knew it was a few strands of Thranduil's hair, from his lovely head. Absentmindedly I plucked them. He never cleaned the brush after he used it, despite all my pleas that he do so._

_A sudden mental image of him loomed in my mind, triggered by the moonlight. I recalled him once when he was sitting on a sawn tree stump in the midst of his beloved woods. There was a great feast that night, for fall had come, and he always held a feast on the first eve of fall. He looked extremely beautiful that night with his crown of red berries atop his gloriously golden head. He was dressed in robes of deep green, which contrasted greatly with his sapphire eyes. He could have been an Eldarin king. I saw part of his kin, Elu Thingol, shine through him. I remember telling him that, and he was quite pleased. He tried so hard to be like him, and his cave-palace was in memory of Menegroth._

_"Have you ever seen him, Haldir, in the fall, with the crown of red berries atop his great golden head? And his robes of deep green, with those wonderful sapphire eyes of his?" I asked her when the image faded away. "Have you ever seen him? Have you, Haldir? Oh, such a glorious sight he is to behold then!"_

_Haldir's silence angered me, but so also did the fading of the image._

_"He said he loved me, he promised to wed me, did you know that?" I continued, defying his silence and my frustration._

_I was infuriated that even my conjured memory had left me alone and feeling much worse than before. All my pent up anger and hatred came through at that moment, and all I could think of him was everything negative. Why did he never clean the brush after he used it? I suddenly found myself looking repulsively down at the hairbrush, which, only moments before, had brought me back sweet memories. The few golden hairs in my hand glinted with mockery at me this time, not with pleasantness as it did before. All I knew now was hatred. The brush was beneath my feet within a matter of moments, and I was crushing it madly. A sense of maniacal happiness filled me. I felt thrilled, but it was not the right kind of thrill one should feel, but the thrill of those who have lost everything and know no hope. My voice screamed what pained me the most, what troubled me endlessly:_

_"And he lied to me! Everything he told me was a lie!"_

_I sensed Haldir's fright as he saw me transformed utterly. We Eldar are known to be beautiful unearthly beings when at peace, but when we are aroused in anger, our wrath takes hold of us and we become very deadly. The white light that usually surrounds us darkens, and our beauty heightens our fey look. My anger took control of me, and all I knew then was that I needed to destroy, for only through destruction would I find the solace that I so desperately needed. The brush was my first victim. Next was the mirror, and I put my fists through it, not caring that doing so injured me. My own blood looked appealing to me is it flowed slowly over my fingers. But my lust was not satisfied; I had to wreak more havoc. My crazed eyes caught sight of the wardrobe, and I summoned by strength to thrust it aside, feeling the sharp pain as my shoulder connected with the hard wooden sides. Breathing heavily, I turned next to the bed, in which Thranduil and I had slept together. I recalled the sweet words he whispered in my ears, and then the bed lay on its side. I saw him, in my mind's eyes, crushed beneath it, and I smiled victoriously. Lastly, I came to the small eating table. In one movement, it was overturned, the goblets and plates dumped to the floor. I felt light, but at the same time a new heaviness overtook me. I never knew that I could harbor so much hate and anger towards the one I truly loved. Or did I truly love him?_

_I felt my arms being pinned behind me, and a flash of yellow hair at my side told me that Haldir was my captor. Powerless I was suddenly rendered in his grasp, as if all my doings had me left with no energy to escape from him. He seemed very worried and afraid._

_"Amorith, you must stop," he pleaded with me._

_My breathing was labored as I struggled to calm myself. My emotions had finally been overpowered by my sense, and now I battled with myself to regain control. I looked at what I had done, and a deep feeling of regret swept over me. I had not really intended to destroy everything, yet in doing so, I had destroyed part of myself. This talan, and all that was in it, were all that I had left physically to connect me to Thranduil. All my years of mental connection had wearied me, and the few times that I had attempted to connect to him through my mind he had blocked. Though, at times, I felt he was hesitant._

_"Will he wed me? He does love me, does he not?" I wept, losing my strength._

_This one question was what kept me alive. I still hoped that he loved me, that he would one day realize that he sundered me from him foolishly. I knew he had doubts about what he had done, for at times when I tried to connect to his mind I did manage to detect his doubt, small though it was. His doubt was what kept me fueled. I knew he did not hate me entirely, but I also knew that the reason he kept me away would be difficult to overcome. At times I thought I heard him call my name, but when I replied, he was silent. Perhaps he was not willing yet to admit and confess his doubt, for Thranduil was one loath to admit that he was wrong. But it was there, and it was growing._

_I knew Haldir wanted to help me, but I also knew that he did not want to harm me further. He hated lies, and so he weighed his words carefully before saying anything. However, I was exhausted both mentally and physically to concern myself with what he would tell me. He could have said then that Thranduil hated me and never wanted to see me; I was willing to accept anything. I only wanted my agonizing turmoil to end._

_"I do not know," he said to me._

_That was the last thing I remembered before I slipped out of consciousness._

Amorith opened her eyes, one hand rested on her temple, while the other lay on a small book that she held open in her lap. Hearing Haldir's approaching footsteps, she quickly closed the book and placed it in her pack. She resumed a calm look on her face.

"I found some herbs in a cabinet here. I will treat your cuts," the Silvan elf said.

The Noldo merely nodded, too weary to argue. For how long she had been unconscious, she did not know, but when she awoke she found herself on the bed that she had upset. Haldir had righted everything Amorith had ruined, except for the mirror and brush; they were both beyond repair. Only Thranduil's hair strands remained unscathed, and these were now clutched tightly in Amorith's fist.

"I shall go now and keep watch on the other shore with my brothers," Haldir said when he finished. "You are to stay here and rest, you need it."

Amorith nodded, Haldir was correct.

"Be careful, Haldir," Amorith called to him.

"I will," Haldir replied. "Just you rest, and everything will be well. _Gweston_ (I swear)."

"Everything will be well…" Amorith murmured as she laid her head onto the pillows.

...

He had a long and weary day. He was in endless councils with his courtiers and advisors, and he was tired of it. Generally, he would have desired to see Legolas and speak with his son, but Legolas was gone. There was no one here for him to speak with. Only Celemirë remained, the court minstrel, whom had grown closer to him since Amorith's departure. He wandered the halls to her chambers and opened her door without knocking. His need for her company caused him to disregard all rules and formalities.

"Celemirë, I am weary," he told her, as he approached the maiden.

She knew it was her king when the door had opened. She turned to him, a smile on her face. She was dressed only in her under-dress, but it did not matter to her. He had come to her, and she was under his command to do what he ordered her to do. She saw his gaze linger for a few moments on her form before he looked into her face.

"Sing to me," he said and dropped exhaustingly into a chair.

"As my lord wishes," she said as she took out her harp.

She plucked the strings of her harp, trying to think of a suitable song. Her eyes studied the form of her king, and a small smile formed on her lips. Many maidens assumed he had taken her as a concubine, for they envied his frequent nighttime visits to her. But that was far from the truth, for Celemirë was not his concubine. Thranduil had no concubines. The only reason he was close to her was because she was his only remaining and safe link to Amorith. He did not admit it, but he missed the Noldo at the same time that he hated her. Amorith had mothered Celemirë during her stay in Mirkwood, and she had taught her singing skills to the Silvan maiden. It was only because of her tie to Amorith that Thranduil frequented to her, and his visits had been more often. And very late at night.

At last, thinking of a song, the fair haired singer began to sing. Her fingers deftly played her golden harp as her sweet voice rose softly into the night air. The moonlight shone through a window in her room and bathed her king. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at him and could not help but notice that he looked very handsome.

'_But he is Amorith's, not mine_,' she reminded herself silently. '_And I love Legolas_…'

'_Ah, but what if he does not love her anymore_?'

She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

When the song ended, Thranduil ordered her to sing another, and she did, this time picking one of the many songs that Amorith had taught her. It was a song of love, one she knew that Thranduil especially enjoyed, though she wondered if he knew it was Amorith that taught her it. She had never heard Amorith sing it to him, so perhaps he did not. Halfway through her singing, the Elven-king's eyes had glazed, which told Celemirë that he was resting. His breathing was slow and shallow, and she hoped he was dreaming of something pleasant. She tucked a blanket around him before slipping into her bed.

Thranduil was indeed dreaming, but it was more a memorable dream than anything else. Everything around him disappeared, and he found himself standing on the threshold of a talan, his private retreat on the other side of the river, on the very edge of Lothlórien. Legolas lay resting already in the far corner in his small bed, one thumb in his mouth. How many times Thranduil and Amorith had told him to stop he did not know, but he did know that it was countless number of times. A slight breeze blew through the talan through the screen, and Thranduil secured the blanket tightly around his son.

"Pleasant dreams, little Legolas," Thranduil whispered, kissing his son's forehead.

Then the king turned his head to the sound that had distracted him, a beautiful voice singing softly. He went to the threshold and waited for the woman to appear, and a few moments later he saw her, gleaming a little ways ahead. He had never seen a Sindarin lady shine like that before, and he often wondered about her. But he pushed that aside as she approached, and as her gaze met his, she flushed slightly and lowered her head. Her gray eyes took in his appearance, his chest bare to her.

"You were gone for a lengthy time," he said as she stepped into the talan, handing her a goblet of wine. "I wondered when you would return to me."

She laughed, but Thranduil silenced her, indicating the resting form of Legolas.

"And where else would I go?" she asked him, her eyes seductive.

Thranduil pulled her to him in a powerful embrace. He nipped her fingers carefully. She closed her eyes, reveling in the moment. Her arms went about his neck as his head bent down. His mouth found hers, and they were locked in a passionate kiss.

"_Gerich veleth nín_ (you have my love)," he whispered to her, pulling her into bed.

She looked at him, and for a few moments she seemed unsure.

"Always and forever?" she asked.

"Always and forever, my beloved Amorith," he assured her.

Thranduil awoke suddenly from the memory-dream, the taste of Amorith still fresh on his lips. It had seemed so real, almost as if she was there. It had been so long since he had dreamt of her, since she had called him through her mind. He had enjoyed the dream, but it also haunted him, for he knew that he still desired her, though he would not admit it. How could he desire her still, after she had revealed everything to him? She was a traitor.

'_But you once called her your beloved, and you still desire her_,'

"I once called her my beloved, once…" Thranduil whispered into the night. "It is past."


	6. Thranduil's Decision

DISCLAIMER AND NOTE: I own nothing of this save my own characters. In other words, if you recognize something, it belongs to Tolkien. Quenyan and Sindarin phrases come from _Council of Elrond_, a website. I took a line from_ Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl._

**Thranduil's Decision**

The night seemed endless to Amorith as she lay on the bed, clutching Thranduil's hairs still tightly in her fist. She felt drained and empty, but her mind weighed her down now more than ever before. The destruction of the talan was taxing her both emotionally and mentally, leaving her unstable and uncertain. She could no longer think clearly, her thoughts were in disarray. All she wanted was to just lay there and let the world go on without her. Amorith was ready to surrender.

"But you are a Lórien warden, you cannot just linger here like this!" a voice said.

She rose suddenly as her sister's voice pierced her mind. She hated Forfirith doing this.

"I suppose you have been spying on me?" Amorith seethed.

"I have not. I felt you were quite distressed." Forfirith replied, quite hurt.

"I apologize, but at the moment I have much to think of and do."

"That gladdens me, for only moments before you were willing to give up."

"I must go to Haldir." Amorith said, attempting to brush off her sister.

"You cannot blame anyone except yourself for this; you brought yourself here and hurt yourself. I have told you many times to forget him."

Amorith turned around, face livid.

"Who are you to tell me what I should and should not do? What gives you the authority to govern me? I had to endure your whines and moans. I do not complain to you, so why do you order me? Why not grieve more over what we both cannot change?"

"I only wish to help you, Vanimë."

"I never asked for your help, never will! If you cannot find anything comforting to say to me, then do not speak to me! I am tired of everything, Forfirith. I can manage on my own. Do not forget that if it was not for me, you would not be safely sitting in Fangorn now, brooding over what was instead of forgetting and living!"

Amorith felt Forfirith's presence withdraw from her mind, and she knew it would be some time before they would speak again. She regretted the words she had said now, but it was too late for apologies.

"Must my family's curse plague me even now?" Amorith whispered.

She now realized how much alike to her sire, Caranthir, and his sire, Feänor, she was. For the first time in centuries, the Noldo wept bitter tears over her scalding remarks to her sister. Their relationship was strained ever since they had left their father's home. Amorith, being more dominant and headstrong in nature, assumed the role of leader, while Forfirith, who was more reserved and brooding, fell into a submissive position. It was Amorith who decided they shed their given names and assume Sindarin names, and she also suggested they answer any questions about their heritage as being from Doriath, having taken refuge there after their parents were lost to Morgoth. Forfirith unwillingly followed, but she felt this was a mark of treason that would never be forgiven. And so, when the sisters had come to Fangorn Forest, after much argument and disagreements, Forfirith felt she would take her leave of her sister in order to save what little connection remained of family. From there Amorith continued onto Greenwood the Great alone, where she knew Thranduil was King. This infuriated Forfirith even more. They did not communicate for many long centuries until the time Amorith decided to tell her of her decision to inform Thranduil of her true identity. Since her exile into the Golden Wood, their communication was also tense. Ruefully did Amorith regret what she had done, and so she wept. There was not a creature within the neighboring area that did not hear her woeful lament and not pity her. Far below, Haldir caught the sound of her cries, but the Silvan elf did not realize the intensity of the grief. With all his attention and concentration trained on the grief of Amorith, he did not see the figure steal up behind him until a hand was laid on his shoulder.

Haldir gave a startled cry.

"_Avo pedo_ (be silent)!"

"Rúmil! You know better than to come up on me like that while I am on guard!" the panicked border guard said.

"A Lórien guard is always ready and never lets anything slip by unnoticed." Rúmil answered. Looking around, he asked suddenly, "Where is Amorith?"

"Here."

The Noldo appeared from their right, face cool and composed. Her gray eyes observed the two younger Elves before her, and she nodded to Rúmil in greeting, lowering her own bow.

"I heard your cry of alarm, Haldir," she said.

Haldir noticed how she had recovered herself. Her face was expressionless, eyes unreadable. It was hard to believe that only a short while before Amorith was as helpless as an elfling.

"Why are you here?" the Noldo asked Rúmil.

"It is nearly dawn, I was on my way to the guard talan looking for you and Haldir so you can relieve us," he answered.

Haldir saw Amorith's eyes twitch slightly upwards, and he knew she was afraid her secret would be uncovered by an unsuspecting individual. Haldir took Rúmil by the arm, firmly leading him away, towards the direction of the guard talan. "What is troubling her tonight?" Rúmil mused, his brother shaking his head. Haldir felt the Noldo's relief at this small gesture of thoughtfulness.

"Very well. I shall rest in the guard talan while you two keep watch. Wake me if there is dire need." Rúmil said.

"I shall send Orophin to join you at once," Haldir told him.

The three Elves bowed to each other, exchanging polite farewells, as Rúmil reported to his brother what he and Orophin had observed. Haldir and Amorith watched Rúmil continue on his way towards the talan before heading in the opposite direction, both deeply absorbed in their own thoughts.

…

Thranduil could not drift back into rest soon after his haunting memory-dream had ended. His mind spun wildly as he sought some inner peace but found none. Knowing he would find no more rest this night, he quietly rose and left Celemirë's room. After making his way to his private quarters and bathing, he decided to start an attempt on his day's work.

If only he knew what lay in store for him…

Celemirë awoke at the sound of her door closing. She looked to find that Thranduil had gone. Usually he remained until just before dawn. Thinking that there had been a pressing matter he went to attend, the singer thought nothing more and slipped back into rest. But she was not fated to rest, just as Thranduil was not. Only a few minutes after the departure of her King, a knock sounded. Thinking it to be Thranduil returning, she slipped out of her bed and opened the door.

"Welcome back, my lord!" she said.

"Celemirë?"

In the doorway stood a tall dark-haired warrior, his deep hazel eyes, piercing and shrewd, were scrutinizing Celemirë's appearance. His face, usually serious, now held a deeply puzzled look as he tried to understand the riddle Celemirë had set for him.

"Innas?" she said.

"What are you doing?" he questioned.

"Answering your knock."

"Why 'welcome back, my lord'?"

This caused the singer to flush slightly.

"_Aran nín_ (my king) was here, and I thought he returned when you knocked. I sang to him," she explained. "He has been coming to me for some time now to hear me sing."

He nodded once before he was satisfied.

"Come in, Innas!" Celemirë laughed.

Innas and Celemirë were dear friends. They had met during the short time Celemirë had taken up archery lessons. Seeking out to follow every step Amorith took, the maiden would not satisfy herself with waiting until Amorith returned from her duties, but insisted on joining her in everything she did, notwithstanding those duties which took her outside the palace and into danger. Long had Amorith plead and attempted to dissuade her, but to no avail. In the end, she relented to allowing Celemirë to take up archery lessons under the ever watchful gaze of Innas. Knowing full well the maiden's temperament, she was not surprised when after only several days of lessons Celemirë announced her resignation, and somewhat ashamed returned to the comfort and safety of the palace life she found so suddenly most fitting and appealing.

"It is wonderful to see you again!" she cried, embracing him.

Innas smiled as he felt Celemirë's embrace. He had been away from the palace for three months on a special intelligence-gathering mission near Dol Guldur. Those were the most grueling three months thus far in his life, something he would not like to repeat ever again if he had a choice. Now to feel Celemirë's strong and firm body within his arms, Innas felt a strange sensation course through him. Tightly he held her.

"Wonderful to see you again, too," he murmured.

"When did you arrive?" she asked, pulling away.

"Just now, I came here first."

"You must be hungry."

She rose and brought him a bowl of fruits.

"_Le hannon_ (I thank thee)," he told her.

"_Glassen_ (it was nothing/you're welcome)," she replied.

They sat in silence for a few moments as Innas ate, his glance occasionally falling over Celemirë's under-dress clad form. He was weary from his harsh three-month session, but what he had come here for would be more grueling and demanding.

"May I ask you for a favor?" Innas asked.

"What is it?" Celemirë said.

"A private audience with Thranduil."

Celemirë did not like the grim expression on his face.

"I will do what I can," she told him. "You should rest, you need it."

He nodded his dark head.

'You never spoke more truthfully,' he thought.

And he lay for several hours in Celemirë's bed. The singer could not sleep, so she sat beside Innas, running her slender fingers through his silky hair. Most people thought that they were lovers, for their friendship was very strong and they harbored no secrets from one another. The maiden laughed, remarking silently how people assumed she was the King's concubine at the same time that she was supposedly Innas' lover. How crass and absurd could people be? At times, however, Celemirë wondered if she were in fact in love with Innas, for her feelings for him were strong. But her heart yearned for Legolas, though Innas occupied a special region. Could she truly be in love with Innas?

"I wish I knew," she sighed.

Everything was a shamble inside her. She could not deny the feeling she had for Legolas, but neither could she ignore the sensation she experienced when she simply thought of Innas. Looking down at him now, she realized just how handsome he was. Her wandering fingertips felt his powerful muscles beneath his tunic. His eyes fluttered open suddenly, catching her completely off guard. She flushed.

"I-I was just seeing if you were well," she whispered.

She could feel the heat rising from her.

"Do you wish for a closer look and more reassurance?" he asked, eyes growing dark.

She shook her head, but he wrapped his legs around her and pulled her onto him, instantly capturing her lips with his. A single moan escaped her. They rolled once, and Innas broke their kiss. His eyes gleamed.

"Dawn has come. No doubt _aran_ (king) Thranduil awaits you. Go to him, but do not forget my request," he said.

Celemirë rose, somewhat shakily. She now had no doubts about who truly captured her heart. She knew it from the instant Innas had opened his eyes. But her attention was focused on what she had to sing for her king and the request Innas asked of her. After changing, she picked up her harp and made her way to the throne room, where she knew Thranduil would be waiting for her as always.

"_Maer aur_ (good morning)," he told her when she entered.

"_Maer aur, aran nín_ (good morning, my king)," she replied with a bow.

Her fingers instantly began to play her harp as her voice accompanied it. No song did she choose, but her heart guided her. Strange and eerie was her song, mirroring her own feelings. By the time she finished, a small crowd of courtiers had gathered to listen, Innas amongst them.

"Excellent, Celemirë," Thranduil said.

"I thank you, my lord," she replied.

"My lord, if I may have a word with you."

Innas approached his King, bowing low.

"Ah, Innas. You have returned?" Thranduil said.

"Only a few hours ago," Innas replied.

"I shall leave then," Celemirë said.

"That would be best," Thranduil said. Turning to his gathered courtiers, he added, "You may go."

Once they had left, Thranduil turned to Innas.

"What is it that you have to say?" he asked.

Innas took a deep breath. This was the moment he had waited for with both anticipation and anxiety. What he had to tell the King was important, but what he feared was Thranduil's reaction. His word meant either the destruction or survival of Lórien, possibly Mirkwood as well. Innas already suspected what Thranduil would say, but he would try to make him see the light. His friends tried to dissuade him from doing this, but Innas was steadfast. In his mind, he was being noble and brave, and if it meant being thrown out of his land, then so be it. At least his conscience would be clear. Then he began:

"_Aran nín_ (my king), I have come to you now with high hopes that you will see the truth and aid me in my dilemma. Three long months I have spent in Dol Guldur observing the enemy and gathering information about their movements. Their numbers increase daily at an alarming rate. I have come to learn that Dol Guldur is planning an attack within a very short time. Their scouting forces are not moving towards us, but away from us, towards the Golden Wood."

Innas paused, allowing his words to sink in. Thranduil stared at him, his face harsh and indifferent. Innas felt the edges of his mind fall prey to fear of what he expected.

"What is it that you suggest?" Thranduil asked.

"That we warn Lothlórien of the possibility of an attack. It could turn out to be a trick, but it also could turn out not to be a trick. Perhaps we can send a few hundred archers as well, in the event that an attack does occur," Innas said. "Of course, as you are my King, I will do what you order me to do."

Thranduil looked away from Innas. The young Elf was a most courageous figure in his army, having willingly asked to be part of the Dol Guldur watch, and his headstrong character and steadfast dedication saw him to be a Captain within a shorter period of time than usual. There was not a mission, however tedious or difficult, that he would not refuse. And he had always returned with exactly the information the King needed, and never undeterred. He possessed the quality of being able to assess situations speedily and with deep insight. On one particular occasion, Innas had returned so weary, that after delivering the information, he had dropped to the floor unconscious. The King also knew that between Innas and Legolas was a deep foundation of trust and friendship, and that they both regarded his exile of Amorith with much contempt. So there was a small part of wariness on both the King and Innas' behalf when they regarded each other.

Thranduil was deadly quiet and his stillness sent chills up Innas' spine. Innas knew his King's relationship with the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien was unstable at best, non-existent to be most accurate, but he hoped he would overlook that. There had been a time when communication between the two realms was more prevalent, and even the Golden Wood held a retreat for his King and Lady Amorith, but the King's mistrust of the Lady Galadriel put an end to all that, and then the unfortunate matter of Amorith in later years. If not overlook the almost total lack of communication, then Innas prayed Thranduil would warn the Golden Wood because Amorith still dwelt there. If he still loved her, which Innas hoped he did. The Captain knew the King valued his thoughts, but he also knew of his partiality on certain matters. For how long he waited, Innas knew not, but at last Thranduil spoke.

"Where are the Dol Guldur forces heading?" the King asked.

"To the river," Innas replied.

"What leads you to conclude they are heading towards Lothlórien?"

"Why else would they be heading there?"

"You suggested it could be a trick."

Innas swallowed.

"I did, my lord, however—"

"We do not have enough warriors to guard our own realm should an attack occur, which I am sure you know is unlikely to happen. And neither will I warn the Lord and Lady, for the Lady can see many things I cannot, so why should we warn them? She has most likely seen this. What reason do I have to warn a Noldo princess with her seeing Mirror? And she has one of the Three Rings; therefore her realm is much more protected than our own. That is why I will not send any reinforcements to the Golden Wood. "

Innas could contain himself no longer.

"They are Elves, like we are! Is that not reason enough? Or is it because she is a Noldo that you will not warn her? If you do not warn Lórien, then you condemn all of Lórien's Silvan inhabitants to death! And Amorith as well! Will you have that on your conscious? For I will not have it on mine!" he cried.

But he had gone too far. Thranduil stood from his throne, enraged at Innas.

"Do not dare speak to me this way! I am your King; I know what is best for my people and realm! Lórien will not be sent a warning, nor will they receive any assistance from me! And to mention the traitor, how blasphemous! Did I not ban the mention of her name?" Thranduil thundered. "As for you, you have until this evening to leave the palace. I do not wish to see you here again!"

Innas' face hardened.

"So be it. If it were not for my utter love for you and my home, I would not have come here. Back to Dol Guldur I return, for there I know my true enemy. Here, it is hard to distinguish friend from foe," he said.

He bowed stiffly before leaving the throne room and his King.


	7. Doomed Departures

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of this save my own characters. In other words, if you recognize something, it belongs to Tolkien. Sindarin phrases come from _Council of Elrond_, a website. I referred to the _Encyclopedia of Arda_ as well. It gets dark from here! As always, enjoy!

**Doomed Departures**

Celemirë was waiting in her room nervously for Innas' return. Whatever he wanted to speak to Thranduil about, it was not a pleasant subject. She sensed it from the look in his eyes, and she wondered if the matter of Amorith had a part in it. The Noldo Princess had essentially vanished from Mirkwood wholly. Thranduil forbade her name to be even spoken aloud, although he kept her chambers preserved, and she knew occasionally he sought refuge within their walls. No word did the kingdom receive concerning Amorith after she departed from Thranduil's halls, though rumor had it that she was in the Golden Wood. This was not surprising to Thranduil, for he knew that the Lady Galadriel was her kinswoman. While the kingdom itself and the King's court most specifically did not receive word from Amorith, Celemirë knew the rumor was factual. She had kept contact with the Noldo princess discreetly. Amorith was indeed in Lórien, seeking refuge in the comfort of the mallorn trees, never venturing beyond its borders. After Amorith's exile from Mirkwood, the letters between them had been quite frequent, but over time they had lessened to the point where now Celemirë could not even remember when the last time she had sent Amorith a letter was. It had not been intentional, this sudden severing of communication, for both the females had become occupied with their own business, but Celemirë felt there was a certain unspoken truce about the matter, which their silence reflected on promises and vows that had not been kept. Celemirë now wondered if something sinister had befallen Amorith. Was that perhaps what Innas was meeting so privately with Thranduil about? Many guesses she made while she waited, until at last, growing impatient, she headed for the door. It opened silently then to reveal Innas; on his face was written pure defeat and frustration.

"What happened?" Celemirë asked. "Amorith?"

The warrior shook his head wearily.

"It was not Amorith, had nothing to do with her, but I threw her shamelessly in like a pawn in a game, hoping that would convince him. I knew even before I met with him that it was doomed. I hoped with all my heart it would not result in the manner it did," he said.

"_Ú-chenion_ (I do not understand)," Celemirë asked.

Innas drew her to him. He seated her on his lap, running a hand through her golden hair.

"I observed the forces of Dol Guldur sending many Orcs to the river, and from there they plan to launch a massive attack. Already they have sent scouts to the opposite shore," he said.

"Lothlórien?" Celemirë whispered.

Innas nodded, now stroking her face.

"I informed _aran_ (king) Thranduil of this, of the likely possibility of Lórien being attacked, and also of the possibility of this being a trick. But I stressed that it most likely is a future attack on the Golden Wood, particularly with the scouts heading towards it. I suggested we send a warning, and a few hundred archers, but as you know…" he continued.

"…he refused…" Celemirë finished, crestfallen.

"He told me that it was most likely a trap, that the Golden Wood will not be attacked. They will not receive a warning or any reinforcements. He insisted that Lady Galadriel was more than capable of protecting her realm better than we can guard our own home, because of certain factors she possesses that our King does not, and of which he is greatly envious. I must admit I was not polite after this with my words, and he gave me until this evening to leave."

"And you are leaving?" the singer asked, fearing the answer.

Innas nodded his head.

"Of course I am leaving, he ordered me to, and I must follow his orders like the faithful subject of his that I am," he answered her. "I had anticipated this; it came not as a surprise."

"Why did you condemn yourself?" she cried. "Why go willingly into danger?"

"Celemirë, my dearest, how could I not do anything? All of my companions know what will happen, but no one will face Thranduil. They fear for their lives, their comforts, their ranks. But I could not be silent and let my Lórien kin, as well as my own people, suffer because my King is proud and dwells in the past—in the Elder Days. I did this because I love him greatly. Some people think that to love your king is to accept everything he does as right, but to love your king is also to aid him when he cannot see. It is a duty for each and every one of us, particularly those who serve under his command. We all swore oaths when we pledged him to become our King, to aid him in times of comfort as well as dire need. And this I have done without any regrets."

"But I will lose you now, after realizing—"

"Realizing what?"

Celemirë hung her head.

"For too long I have been blinded by the comforts of the palace life. I have been desired, and I desired. But what I desired was a crown, a status, something empty, without substance. Only until this morning did I realize that what I thought to be love was false, and that my heart had long found someone, if only I listened. Innas, I love you, and I cannot let you go now," she said.

"Many years I have hoped to hear these words, and now I finally have," Innas said, eyes shining.

He rose from his chair, and in one swift movement Celemirë was in his arms. Passion was in his eyes.

"If I am never to return here, then let us make the most of what little time we have left together," Innas said.

Celemirë would never forget that noontime. It shone in her memory as bright as a beacon in the darkness of night, one of the few memories she revisited many times in her mind. If Innas was a brutal warrior on the battlefield, it never showed when he made love to her. His touches were tender and soft, and even when he entered into her he was gentle. Innas wished he could stay with her, to protect and conceal her from the troubles that he knew would be coming. Celemirë was naïve about the workings of the world, and this worried him. But he had to leave, and at the very least he would be leaving her with a memory of the pureness of his heart and his good intent. Never again would Celemirë experience this, though if she knew what was to come, she would not have let him take her.

"Please, let me speak to him," she begged. "Perhaps I can convince him at least to pardon you. Your father—"

"I cannot place you at harm," Innas told her. "You know well his wrath. And my father has no part in this, though I strongly suspect he would agree that what I have done was my duty."

"But I love you!"

"As do I, but I will not have you condemned!"

"I will follow you wherever you go!"

"It is dangerous. You will not be able to handle life outside the palace walls."

"I can wield a bow!"

"Celemirë, listen to me! Dol Guldur is very deadly; you will not survive. The many years you have spent within the safety of this palace have conditioned you, and moreover you only took a few but very basic archery lessons. You might as well not have taken any lessons for the effectiveness that you did not learn. Though the palace is not entirely safe, I would rather have you with a known danger than with an unknown danger—our enemy. _Aran_ (king) Thranduil needs you, he needs someone to comfort him and show him that some beauty still exists in this world. Do not forget the promise you made so very long ago. You need to remind him that he still loves Amorith," Innas said. "One day you will understand the truth regarding Amorith's departure from here. They did not merely quarrel as was told to the kingdom's people; they stirred within themselves the living embers of the Elder Days: Amorith is one of Feänor's granddaughters. That is why Thranduil sundered her."

Celemirë stared at Innas, and he knew she did not understand. There was no time, however, for explanations.

"I must go now, but we will meet again, even if it will be in the Halls of Mandos," he told her. "_Gerich veleth nín_ (you have my love), Celemirë, always and forever."

And without another word, he strode out of her room and down the palace halls until he had disappeared outside. All who beheld him saw doom written on his face, but he would be spared. The doom would not harm him, but the one he cherished the most, the one who now was bearing it within her. At the palace gates, he paused, glancing back at the entrance into the palace-cavern. For most of his life he had believed in the King, in his sound judgment, but ever since the exile of Amorith Innas had felt himself grow sullen. Something had snapped inside the King on that fell day, and Innas was afraid what this would lead to. He was afraid mostly for Celemirë, unsure if she really understood the true nature of what was occurring. He took comfort in the knowledge that no matter what she had said about following him, she dared not leave the palace on her own, for she did not possess the courage for a venture this dangerous. She was a maiden of songs and comforts, not of stoutness and swords. Lifting his head to the evening horizons, Innas offered a silent prayer of protection and strength before continuing on.

…

For two days and nights, Orophin, Rúmil, Haldir, and Amorith kept watch on the opposite shore. No suspicious activity did they see except for the Orcs gathering in ever greater numbers. There was a fine mist developing over the Anduin River, impeding even the exceptional sight of the Elves. Occasionally the little company of guards thought that they had seen the silhouette of an approaching boat, but nothing appeared to them from the mists. Amorith had resorted to her usual demeanor of silence, only her gray eyes revealing any sign of life from her. She removed herself a little way from the three brothers, with the announcement that it would not do for all four of them to be gazing at the same area when perhaps there was other activity to be noticed elsewhere. Orophin and Rúmil took her advice to heart, and soon they had moved to other areas of the bank as well. Only Haldir remained alone in the same location, steeling his thoughts to himself from the onslaught of the eerie mist. When evenings settled, they would gather at the adjoining guard talan, filling themselves up with food and drink, exchanging what they had seen earlier that day. On the third morning, the four decided to depart. They had done their duty Haldir deemed, and it was time to report their observations to their Lord and Lady in Caras Galadhon.

"What could the gathering of those foul Orc creatures mean?" Orophin asked.

"Something dark," Rúmil replied.

"They plan to attack," Amorith said.

"But why are they simply waiting? They have been gathering for weeks now. There are enough Orcs there to attack all of Middle-earth."

The Silvan Elf froze as the meaning of his own words struck into him, and a shiver ran up his spine.

"Multiple attacks—to destroy the true heart of Elves in Middle-earth," Haldir said.

The younger Elves were silent. Haldir could only focus his gaze ahead of him.

"Element of surprise," Amorith added. "There are numerous possibilities I can conceive of, each one of them darker than the first."

"Does King Thranduil know?" Rúmil wondered.

Amorith laughed bitterly.

"Oh, he knows. Fear not for him," she said.

Rúmil looked questioningly at her.

"What I fear is that he knows," Amorith stated, moving ahead of the others.

"What do you mean, Amorith?" Orophin asked.

"Thranduil is difficult to comprehend at times, and he often bases his decisions partially. He sees things with one eye, not two, and that is what I fear."

Rúmil and Orophin stared at Amorith's back, not understanding a single word she said. They glanced at Haldir, gaining nothing from his usually stoic expression.

"Do you know why history is so important? It is taught in the hopes that someday someone will finally learn a lesson. Instead of simply reading it, one must comprehend and then apply it, so that no mistake is repeated twice or thrice. Before this ends, you will witness one of Arda's longest and most bitter feuds between the Elves come to a final close. Whether for good or ill, the Valar alone know," Amorith said. "And I pray it will be for good. We depart now for Caras Galadhon; our departure from the river is one of doom. May Elbereth protect us all!"

But Rúmil and Orophin stood their ground, still looking questioningly at Amorith. Haldir saw her staring at him, and for a brief moment she grew quite restless and uncomfortable. His two brothers would not take another step forward until she expanded on her words, and the discomfort she felt he knew stemmed from her desire to keep some things secret, secrets which he himself had only guessed at in previous years. Perhaps he would gain some answers. Already he could sense her growing steely. Finally, she sighed.

"I suppose you will refuse to take any more steps onward until I explain myself?" she asked the two brothers.

They nodded their blond heads in unison.

Amorith shrugged, saying, "Very well," as she leaned her back against a nearby mallorn tree trunk.

"What I am about to tell you has happened many eons ago, indeed in the First Age of the World itself. There are very few alive now who remember that time, one of darkness and light, joy and sadness. Many great deeds were done, both righteous and corrupt, for the sake of pursuing something which to this very hour remains more valuable than anything else; it is arguably more precious than even the One Ring of Sauron. This tale begins in Valinor, that fair land of green across the Sea, beyond the Circles of the World.

"In one of the many gardens of Valinor were the Two Trees of Light, Laurelin and Telperion, and they were as if discreet lovers, for Telperion, known as the Eldest of Trees, bloomed first with a silver-white light. Laurelin lit the first time seven hours after Telperion with a golden beam, and afterwards the Trees waxed and waned in harmony with one another. The Valar were pleased, and the Elves dwelling in Valinor were content. Everyone marveled at their beauty and the Light filled them all with much joy. There came a time, however, when one amongst the great House of the Noldor, perhaps the lordliest of all the Elves, desired to capture the Light of these Two Trees for himself. Fëanor son of Finwë was he, and he was regarded as the most skilled craftsmen of his people, for amongst the Elves it was the Noldor who were considered the most knowledgeable in the subjects of lore and crafting.

"Capture the Light of those Two blessed trees he did, and they were considered invaluable, the Silmarilli. Even the Valar themselves could not understand how they had been made, but Yavanna hallowed them, and Fëanor coveted them even more. There came a time when the first true Darkness appeared, for the Vala Melkor, Morgoth, desired the Silmarilli for himself, and so together with Ungoliant, the mother of giant spiders, they laid waste to the Trees. The only Light was that from the Silmarilli, and so the Vala Yavanna beseeched him to give her the jewels so that she may break them and release their Light. Fëanor refused, however, and so the Sun and Moon were created out of necessity, and hope rose anew.

"Fëanor came to Middle-earth, for his precious Silmarilli had been stolen by Morgoth, and his father slain by the fallen Vala. And Fëanor swore a most terrible oath, binding his seven sons and those who heeded his words to kill any who possessed the Silmarilli for themselves. Many grievous deeds they performed to regain these jewels, but it was not their fate to redeem them. Fëanor himself died before two of his sons managed at last to recapture one Silmaril each, but so tainted and corrupted were their hearts now that the hallowed jewels burnt them, and so they were lost, one in the sea, and one in a fiery chasm…"

Amorith paused, turning her head away to hide the tears that threatened to spill down her face. Haldir could not tell from where her grief lay, but the tale was so repulsive he found himself saddened as well. Beside him, Orophin and Rúmil only stared at their feet, unable to speak. After several minutes of silence, Orophin addressed the Noldo Princess.

"What has this to do with King Thranduil?"

Amorith continued looking away, replying with a distant voice, "The Noldor, in their grief and madness, bound by the oath they swore to Fëanor, stopped at nothing to regain the jewels. They were called Kinslayers, for they slew fellow Elves. Long before they had arrived in Middle-earth, the Noldor slew the Teleri as they escaped to these shores from Valinor. Once in Middle-earth, the Silmarilli lost, they sought the far reaches of this land for their jewels. It came to pass that one Silmaril, through the years, chanced to be in Doriath, where King Thranduil had dwelt. He was akin to its King, the noble Elu Thingol. Elu Thingol banned the language of Quenyan when they had come ashore, which was spoken by the Noldor, and there was little love between the Sindar and Noldor. For Elu Thingol was greatly grieved upon hearing the news of their deeds. The sons of Fëanor, upon hearing the news of a Silmaril in Doriath, assailed Menegroth, the cavern-palace of the King Elu Thingol. With the destruction of Doriath, the Sindar had an even greater reason for hating the Noldor.

"And Lady Galadriel is Noldor, though she had no part in any of the evil deeds I have related to you. Thranduil will not have forgotten the destruction of Doraith, or at whose hands it was done, no matter the innocence of those he regards with much suspicion."

Rúmil kept his gaze downward as he addressed Amorith, whispering, "And you are her kinswoman…and the rumors concerning you—"

It was Haldir who raised his voice, "I will not have weak-minded fools under my charge, believing vicious rumors, especially my own brother. The Lady Amorith is as noble as our own Lady, and if there are any lingering doubts, they shall be duly brought to court in front of our Lord, for he knows how best to deal with treacheries. Have you learned nothing from this tale? Come, we have tarried awhile, and now must hasten our steps."

Amorith slowly eased herself from leaning on the tree, the words of Rúmil echoing loudly in her ears. He stopped shortly before her, raised his right hand to his heart, and said, "_Goheno nin_ (forgive me). _Im naer_ (I am sorry)."

She merely nodded her consent, falling behind the three brothers. As the four Lothlórien guards made their way back to their home, Innas was heading towards them, to Dol Guldur. Each step the five Elves took brought them closer to the horror that lay ahead of them. For the coming days would bring to all tears and wounds unnumbered, some never to heal.


	8. Anger Abounds

DISCLAIMER: I only own the characters that I created; all other recognized characters are J.R.R. Tolkien's possessions. Elvish phrases (Sindarin and Quenayan used) come from the website _Council of Elrond_.

**Anger Abounds**

Celemirë remained in her room for the remainder of the day weeping her loss of Innas. She was very frightened now, but of what she did not know. She was upset with Innas for confronting Thranduil and she was upset with her King for sending Innas away from the palace and away from her. The singer felt that her head was spinning uncontrollably as she thought over everything that had happened that day. It almost felt surreal, as if she was in a terrible waking dream. She felt uncertain of what was to come, and it scared her. There was no one for her to talk to now; she could not share with Thranduil her feelings now. How could she face him now knowing that he was the one who sundered her from her lover? How could she walk the halls now and feel happy knowing that Innas was far away from her in a very dangerous place, never to return to her? All Celemirë could do to comfort herself was to lie on her bed and weep bitterly.

Noon turned to evening, and still the golden haired maiden did not emerge from her room. The evening meal was served, but she did not go. She listened to the bell ring several times and heard the voices of her fellow Elves as they made their way to the dining hall, completely oblivious of her hurt. For a moment she felt a wave of hatred towards them. How could they laugh when their King had been unjust? How did they dare laugh?

She lay on her back now, gazing listlessly up at the ceiling, twirling a strand of her hair around her fingers, watching the last rays of the sun disappear below the horizon. If only Amorith were here, it would make things much better. Amorith had a similar situation; she would surely know what to do. If she did not, then at least she would comfort her.

The singer rolled over onto her stomach and backed off the bed slowly until her feet hit the floor. She threw a shawl around her shoulders and slipped her feet into soft slippers. If Amorith were not here with her, then Celemirë would have to send her a letter. It had been so long a time since the last letter that the maiden could not recall when they had last exchanged news. Amorith had to know about this, but Thranduil must not find out. Celemirë shivered slightly as she thought of what would happen to her if Thranduil found out about the letter that she was about to send to Amorith, or of all the other letters she had sent for that matter. His wrath would be unaccounted for, that much was certain.

Lighting a slender white candle on her desk, the maiden seated herself on the chair. From a drawer she took out a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill. It was her favorite quill. Innas had given it to her from his own messenger hawk, Maeglin. That hawk now belonged to her as well, something to link her forever to her lover. Taking a deep breath, the golden haired singer dipped her quill into a pot of ink and began to write:

"_Mell_ (dear) _Amorith,_

_Long have been the years since we last were gathered together. Mirkwood is not the same without you. The halls are not full of life like they were when you were here. The entire kingdom appears murkier than I ever remember it to be. But perhaps that is because of the Shadow that now covers the entire world. There is no denying, however, that the land has changed considerably since your departure. We are forbidden to speak your name. When you left, Thranduil had me lock your chambers, and I have not set foot in them since that day. But he keeps me close to him now only because of my relationship with you. It is hard to tell what he thinks of you now. He has become withdrawn and colder. He regards everything and everyone around him with contempt. His own courtiers dread attending councils with him because he will not listen to their advice anymore. I have so much to tell you, but it is best that I tell you in person, if we are ever to meet again_…"

Celemirë paused for a few moments and read over what she had written. She laughed bitterly at how dark everything was that she had written. She hoped Amorith would not be too pained when she read her letter, but if she was hurt, there was nothing the singer could do. She felt that the Noldo had a right of knowing what was happening. Picking her quill up again, the maiden continued:

"_I write to you now in a moment of desperation. A great evil has befallen here this morning. Thranduil has sent Innas away from the palace, and now he is on his way to Dol Guldur. They had a discussion and argued heatedly. Thranduil would not listen again and dismissed everything Innas said, despite the overwhelming evidence. I do not know what to do; I feel so helpless and lost. I am not strong like you to confront aran nín. But I am not sure how I can face him now knowing what happened. I spent the entire day in my room away from everyone and weeping…_"

She paused and thought about if she should include what happened between her and Innas, but decided against it. This was something she would tell no one about, not even Amorith. Maybe later she would tell her, but not now.

"_What they fought about concerns the fate of Lothlórien. Innas believes that there will be an inevitable attack on the fair Golden Wood. He tried convincing Thranduil to warn the Lord and Lady and send some archers, but of course the idea was rejected. Innas seems sure of this, and I believe him, so I am sending you this letter in the hopes that it serves as the warning that my King should have sent to the Lord and Lady._

_"I hope you are well, Amorith. I miss you so much. I pray that we shall meet again before the end. I must end now before this is discovered. May the Valar deliver it safely to you._

_No i Melain na le _(may the Valar be with you)

_Celemirë_"

After reviewing it over quickly and being satisfied, Celemirë folded the parchment. She sealed it tightly with a thin layer of wax. Pushing her chair back, the singer rose from her seat and headed out of her room. The halls were empty; everyone was most likely still eating. Hurrying along the hallways, Celemirë made her way swiftly to the room that housed all of the messenger hawks. Scanning the perches quickly, she caught sight of Maeglin, a handsome red and brown hawk. He called softly to his mistress when he spotted her and fluttered down onto her arm.

"Maeglin, _mellon nín_. I have an important task for you; are you up to it?"

The hawk puffed out his chest and stared into her face with his beady black eyes.

"Good. Listen closely. Take this to Amorith. She is in Lothlórien. You remember her?"

Maeglin bobbed his head in answer.

"Excellent!"

She lifted up his left wing to reveal a cleverly concealed pouch. She opened it and slipped her letter into it before closing it tightly. Meaglin folded his wings when she finished. No one would know that he carried a formidable letter with delicate information to Amorith. Celemirë smiled secretly at the cleverly hidden pouch. Going over to the window, she stroked her hawk and whispered to him quietly, encouraging him to fly fast and hard and avoid any danger. Maeglin nipped her fingers lovingly before spreading his wings and taking off into the night. Celemirë remained for a few moments before heading back to her room. She felt her burden lessen slightly now that her letter was on its way to Amorith.

She was hardly in her room for a few minutes before there was a sharp knock on her door. Recognizing the knocker as Thranduil, she tried to compose herself and control her feelings. She waited until the third knock before she opened the door.

"_Aran nín_," she said curtly.

Thranduil studied her closely, noting the change in her. Her hand was tensed upon her door; her face was set in a deliberate expression of forced blankness. She stared at him like she had never stared at him before. It unnerved him to see her this way.

"May I come inside?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied, stepping aside to admit him.

She waited until he was seated before closing the door. But she remained where she was.

"Where were you this entire day?" Thranduil asked.

"In my room," she answered.

"How come you did not come to dinner? The people were waiting for you, as was I."

Celemirë shrugged.

"I did not feel like singing," she told him.

Thranduil stared at her.

"I do not like your tone, Celemirë. You are my singer, and you are ordered to sing at every evening meal, as well as when I see fit to hear you," he said. "It will simply not do you that you did not feel up to your task. Many a time I did not feel as if I wanted to go to my court, but I did. If matters were always up to our whims, then I am afraid the world would be in a worse case."

She said nothing, but simply stared ahead of her out of the windows.

"Why did you send Innas away?" she asked suddenly.

Thranduil's eyes narrowed.

"Is this what it is all about, then? Innas?" he said icily. "I do not want his name mentioned."

Celemirë's eyes flashed with anger she never knew she could posses. For a moment Thranduil was thrown off guard as he saw his normally sweet tempered singer transformed before his very eyes into an angry _elleth_. Did she really have all that anger inside of her?

"How many people will you sunder foolishly? You made two Amoriths now for yourself! Why must you act so? Why cannot you see the truth?" she cried, tears streaming.

He let her speak, but when she had finished he wished he had not allowed her the liberty of sharing what was on her mind with him. He was filled with such rage that before he realized what he was doing, his hand was raised in a very threatening manner, poised above the maiden. Her eyes were round with shock, not daring to believe what he had almost done to her. Thranduil found that his hand would not move forward, try as he might. And Celemirë remained frozen where she was, unable to move or to speak, her eyes the only part of her that seemed not touched by the sudden spell. In her heart, she repeated the name of Amorith, as a talisman of protection it seemed to her. Thranduil remained as he was for some time, until he felt his arm being wrenched back.

"_Avo pedo_ (silence)! You forget whom you are addressing; I am your King! I will not tolerate any more disrespect from anyone, understood? And I see no reason to explain my actions to you, a mere singer. I thought you better than this. I came to you at night because you were the only one I could get some much needed rest from. But I am sorry that I ever thought highly of you now that I see where your loyalty lies. Is there no one in this palace loyal to me anymore? My own councilors cringe when they see me!" he said. "And then you dare to utter the name of the traitor in my presence! Do you wish for the same fate as your Innas, to be outcast?"

Celemirë lifted her head slowly and watched him leave. He paused before the door.

"You will resume your normal routine tomorrow, and if you do not appear, I will know how to deal with you appropriately," he told her, then slammed the door behind him.

Celemirë dragged herself to her bed, biting her trembling lips in an attempt to curb her tears.

"May the Valar never forgive you for this, Thranduil," she whispered.

Thranduil stormed through the corridors, the exchange with Celemirë still fresh in his mind. The traitorous maiden, siding with Innas! He never expected it from her, but he should not have been that surprised. He knew they were very close friends. The way she had yelled at him, her eyes burning with hatred—that was something. She reminded him of Amorith somewhat when she was extremely upset, but Amorith's anger was more deadly than Celemirë's. The Noldor, when awakened in their wrath, were dangerous. And then she had uttered her name aloud, unashamed. How could anyone still think of her, even after all these years?

Why was everyone around him turning against him? His most trusted people were slowly edging away from him, leaving him to stand alone. Was he not their King? Did they not owe him their undying loyalty? Are they not supposed to follow his orders without any fuss? Why did everyone treat him like he was always wrong? Like he knew nothing?

His face held a deep look of anger. He was getting weary of everything. He felt that his kingdom was slowly slipping away from his grasp. If only his people how much he cared for them, how many nights he could not sleep for fear of not protecting them properly. If only he could feel that he was doing something right.

His thoughts turned to his confrontation with Innas in the morning. Could Innas be correct, could the Orcs be intending to attack the Golden Wood? But what would they gain from attacking Lórien? Its people never left their land. No, it could not be right. Innas was wrong. The Orcs are not planning to attack that land across the river. No, they would only attack his kingdom. His people valiantly fought against the spiders and kept the forces of Dol Guldur in their cursed fortress while the Lórien Elves hid themselves in their mallorn trees lamenting over the hurts of the world. And the nerve of Innas to think that by throwing Amorith into the fray that Thranduil would care about that traitor!

What if the Orcs and the Lady—

Thranduil shook his head. That was going too far. As much as he hated the Lady, he knew she would never do that. She was far too noble for that.

He reached the royal section of the palace and disregarded the guards as they sprung aside to let him in. He unlocked the door of his private chambers and slipped inside.

"_How many people will you sunder foolishly? You made two Amoriths now for yourself! Why must you act so? Why cannot you see the truth?_"

Celemirë's words brought him out of his reverie about the Golden Wood.

The truth was plain to see. Everyone was turning against him. But deep inside him Thranduil knew it was wrong. He knew all the calamities that he was now facing was of his own doing. Yet, still, he denied that he was wrong. How could he be wrong? He was King of Mirkwood, the greatest Sindarin king ever to come after Elu Thingol.

Thranduil sighed and buried his head in his hands. The coming days were not going to be better, in fact, they would get darker. He only hoped that he would be able to deal with everything accordingly. Lifting his head slowly, he stared at his hand, the one that had almost betrayed him. How could he have lost his temper, almost have committed an act so very horrendous and shameful as that? The look on Celemirë's face, he would never forget that. He knew she was taken aback by this one movement of his more than the words he spoke to her before leaving. How could he ever obtain her forgiveness, the one maiden who was as innocent and harmless as an elfling? She had been protected in that moment he knew, for the very power that protected her had stopped him from executing his crime. Feelings of remorse and guilt filled him then, and Thranduil then did something he had not done in ages—wept.


	9. Return to the Past

DISCLAIMER: I only own the characters that I created; all other recognized characters are J.R.R. Tolkien's possessions. Elvish phrases (Sindarin and Quenayan used) come from the website _Council of Elrond_. The song lyrics are taken from Liz Phair's song entitled _Everything to Me_ and edited slightly. Enjoy!

**Return to the Past**

He watched her as she approached her room, that wonderful body of hers gliding so smoothly beneath her clothing. Her tunic and leggings were spotted with blood and guts from all that fighting. His eyes traced the rip above her chest down to the top of her cleavage, and his heart raced madly as his mind began turning.

She had fought bravely beside him today, her sword heavy on his enemies. If he thought that he had known her well, he was proven wrong in the battle. She seemed an altogether different person than he knew as she slew spider after spider. She burned with an unknown passion as she fought alongside him, and he sensed the respect and awe his soldiers had for her. It was a silent but unanimous agreement to appoint her captain; it would be foolish not to. He admired the way she seemed to concentrate solely on the fighting and nothing else, the makings of a true warrior.

She drew near to her door, and he now noticed how weary she was. She had sustained a few injuries, but had hidden them cleverly so that not even he knew about them. Her hand slipped into her pockets and withdrew a small silver key. With one turn she unlocked her door and vanished inside. He smiled impishly to himself and moved towards the concealed doorway that led to her room. Now he had to wait for the right moment to enter and surprise her. Pressing his head to the concealed door, he listened closely for any sound from her room.

She placed her sword onto her table and dropped exhaustingly into a nearby chair, resting her head in her hands. The battle was long and drained her much more than she had expected. The spiders seemed endless; they had come on in continuously unending waves. She had not shown it, but she was quite terrified towards the end, fearing the worst would occur. But she was trained well, Beleg had seen to that. She smiled sadly as she remembered her dear friend. His handsome face loomed up suddenly before her, and her heart skipped a few beats.

"Never show your true feelings in battle, for that may be your undoing."

Her gray eyes glistened with tears. She missed him so much, but alas, he was dead. And so sad and heartbreaking was his death, slain unknowingly by his friend Túrin Turambar. But it was fate.

"Oh, I must check on Legolas," she whispered suddenly to herself. "And Celemirë, too."

On the other side of the wall, he smiled to himself. Now would be a perfect opportunity for him to slip in unnoticed. He smirked to himself when he thought of the surprise she would receive. He waited until he heard the door open then close behind her before slipping into her room.

She made her way leisurely through the halls, fighting the weariness within her. Various people nodded their heads at her as she passed them, and she returned their greetings. She knew her appearance was not very beautiful, what with all that gore covering her clothing, but there were not many Elves in this section of the palace anyway. The royal section of the palace was very well protected and subdivided: the highest warriors, the King's advisors and councilors, and then the entire portion that was for the King. There were guards at every section's entrance.

She reached her destination at last. It was the common drawing room of the three royal sections of the palace. She heard many voices inside, mostly women and children. The room went quiet as she entered. Heeding everyone little attention, she scanned the room until she found the two elflings she was looking for. They were in the far corner playing together as their caregivers watched them. She threaded her way over to the foursome.

"Amorith!"

Legolas had spotted her, and now he was running to her. They met halfway in the hall, and Amorith could not help the large smile that formed on her face. She loved the small Elf as if he were her own elfling. She held him away from her at arm's length, inspecting every inch of him. She had not laid eyes on him for a day and a half, and she longed the entire time to bury her face in his chest as she mercilessly assaulted him with tickles. He would scream, eyes shut, kicking and protesting, until at last she let him be. Then he would pounce when her back was turned, least expectantly, and he would hold one hand over her mouth, the other would be tickling the small of her back. Thranduil usually pretended not to notice this, and so Amorith would shake him off her gently.

"Do not come closer, my darling. My clothing is not clean, I am afraid," she told him.

She looked into his own face, noting the strong resemblance between him and his sire. But there were also features that were not Thranduil's that she knew to be his mother's. His mother must have been very beautiful. Amorith had not met her, but she heard much about her. She was a kind and caring woman; her heart was very warm. She was not from Mirkwood, but another realm, though Silvan she was. Thranduil had never talked about Legolas' mother to Amorith, and so she had ceased questioning him, but her curiosity never waned.

"What happened to make your clothing this filthy?" Legolas asked her. "Did you fight?"

Amorith nodded.

"_Adar_ never let _naneth_ fight. Why do you fight?" he asked innocently.

"He asked me not to, but I did anyway. I love to fight," she answered.

"I thought fighting was for the males, that females were supposed to wait inside the palace safely. Whenever _adar_ went to fight, he made sure _naneth_ and I were protected until his return. Yet you go with him into battle as if you were a man, and I wait here by myself until you both return. I hate waiting alone, bad things always happen."

Legolas said this with determination in his little eyes, his voice measured. His maiden came to gather him, trying to show a manner of disapproval in her tone, scolding him. But Amorith stopped her, hiding her amusement behind her hands. Beckoning for the little Prince, Amorith took him into her arms, his small hands winding their way into her hair, his head cocked to one side, and the Noldo was again reminded of the way his father looked at her when they were alone together.

"Well Legolas, I was raised differently. That does not make your father wrong, or me. I am sorry, my little precious one, that I do not stay with you to wait," Amorith replied. "What happened the last time you waited alone?"

But Legolas was silent, his lips pressed together solemnly, and Amorith knew he would not reply.

"I want to become a great warrior when I get older," he said suddenly, as if in defiance.

Amorith smiled softly at him.

"You will be, Legolas. _Avo 'osto_ (fear/worry not)," she told him.

He then took hold of her hand and led her over to where Celemirë was playing, and then he resumed his play with her. The little girl was very sweet, reminding Amorith of her sister Forfirith. The two elflings looked so perfect together, and Amorith smiled secretly inside of her. When they were older, she hoped that Legolas would take her as his Princess.

"Well, I must be off now. I will see you at night, as always," she told the pair.

As she left, she noticed a dark haired elfling sitting in the opposite corner, watching the Prince and Celemirë play together. Even as an elfling, Innas was quite serious. His blue eyes and facial expression were somber and grim, but all the same, Amorith always liked him. There was something in him that attracted her, something mysterious. As she passed him, he looked up at her, and after regarding her silently, he nodded his head slowly to her in greeting. She felt Innas had wisdom even from his earliest years, comprehending those events that even the older Elves could not.

Amorith made her way back to her room, grateful to get some much needed rest at last. Her soiled clothing and aching muscles were getting to her, as well as her injuries. She had to clean them as soon as possible before they became infected, if they were not already infected. She eased herself into her room and locked the door. She did not light any candles as there was sufficient moonlight streaming in from the windows. Standing near the bathing room door, she began to strip off her clothing in a large pile by her feet, unaware that she was being watched.

He sat in the furthest corner of her room, where the shadows were heaviest. He had waited with utter patience for her to return and had begun to lose hope that she would return in time before the feast would begin. But just as he had thought so, she had arrived, dismissing his worries. No doubt she wanted to bathe and rest a little before the night that lay ahead.

His eyes followed her every move, and he could not contain himself as he watched her undress. Desire within him for her stirred, and a single moan escaped his lips. Amorith froze.

"Who is there?" she called, reaching for a dagger.

But Thranduil was there before she had unsheathed it.

"Thranduil?" she cried.

He nodded and smiled down at her.

"You should know better than to intrude upon a lady's privacy," she chided him.

"But you left the door unlocked," he replied cheekily.

She laughed.

"Where are your royal manners, my lord?" she jested.

"Forgotten, from the first moment I saw you," he replied.

Amorith could not help the flush that spread across her body. His face neared her, and the next instant they were enveloped in a passionate kiss. His arm went across her waist, but he withdrew it suddenly. He had felt something warm and moist on her back.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, noticing blood on his arm.

She nodded.

"And you told no one?"

"If I had, then all attention would have been focused on me, not on the fighting."

Thranduil stared at her for a moment. He had never met a woman before like her, who was so considerate, placing others before herself, even if it meant her death.

"Is something wrong?" Amorith asked him.

Thranduil looked down into her face then let his gaze fall over her bare form. She seemed so perfect, flawless. His former wife, although quite beautiful, never appeared this fine. There was something to Amorith, something within her that made her this way. He wanted to know what it was.

"I am just admiring you, my sweet. I believe that is the problem," Thranduil told her. "I have never seen a Sindarin lady so…perfect as you are."

"You are quite observant, my lord," she said. "I am a special Sindarin lady, then."

She slipped away from his grasp, and Thranduil noticed the injuries that she had sustained. The one on her back was particularly nasty. He felt a pang of guilt that he had not protected her.

"Well, we crushed them, did we not?" she asked.

Thranduil moved closer to the door and watched as she bathed herself.

"That we did. You were remarkable today; my soldiers were impressed," he told her.

She flashed him a smile, and he knew that she was pleased.

"You were not so bad yourself," she said. "You did not get hurt like I did."

"Those who get hurt are the most feared warriors."

"Well, then, that means you are not a feared warrior!"

Thranduil's eyes narrowed and his face took on a predatory look. Amorith tried to dodge him, but being weakened from her blood loss, she simply sank to the ground.

"If I were not so weak, I would have made it impossible for you to catch me," she told him.

"Would you really?" he whispered seductively, running his hand over her body.

"Thranduil…" she cried quietly, feeling herself giving in to his touches.

"We have a few hours before tonight's feast."

"I have no energy left."

"We shall see."

Thranduil laid her on the bed then removed his robe. Underneath, he was completely bare. He watched with satisfaction as Amorith's gray eyes lit up. She desired him as much as he desired her.

"You win," she told him.

"So easily do you give up, oh great warrior," he jested.

"When my strength returns, we shall see who is the greatest warrior."

"Shall we, now?"

He stood over her now, watching as the silver moonlight fell over her entire form, and for a moment, Thranduil thought he saw something in her change. But it vanished suddenly.

"Do not keep me waiting," she told him.

"I love you, Amorith," he told her honestly.

She smiled up at him.

"And I love you more, Thranduil."

"Can you sing to me as I…"

She laughed softly and lay down obediently, allowing him to ease into her. As she felt her body accepting him, she began to sing. The words were eerie and mysterious as ever, but Thranduil loved them all the same.

"Do you really know me at all?

Would you take the time to catch me if I fall?

Are you ever going to be

That real to me

Everything to me"

As they lay an hour later in each other's arms, Amorith remembered her conversation with Legolas she had earlier in the evening. Thranduil looked much the same as his son, his hands wound in her dark hair, his head lying lazily to the right, eyes shut in peace.

"Thranduil?" she whispered, unsure if he was resting or not.

His eyes fluttered open at the tone in her voice.

"Is something amiss?" he asked.

"I only seek to answer a question I had. Earlier, upon arriving at the palace, I went to check on Legolas. He was in the common drawing room playing with Celemirë. When he came up to me, he was very concerned that I had gone with you to battle, and that he had been left alone waiting for us. He emphasized that you had always left him and his mother in safety, and that the last time he had been left alone something unpleasant had occurred."

She spoke in her softest manner, the manner in which she knew he usually would find he could not ignore her. Thranduil did not speak for some time, content in stroking the softness of her skin. He nuzzled the side of her neck, attempting to redirect her attentions. Amorith, however, would have none of it.

"Will you not answer me?" she beseeched.

Sighing, Thranduil stopped his actions.

"I always told him only the men would go on spider raids and battles with me, because the women needed to stay behind and tend to the palace, keep it ready for our return. That was the way of things I had told him, and he believed me. And so it was that when I had business with the spiders, or whatever fell creatures, I bid him to stay with his mother in the securest area of the palace until I returned and got them myself. He was scared always, of course, but his mother knew how to calm him enough so that when I bid them farewell he was smiling happily. And that was how I remember leaving them always, Legolas smiling in his mother's arms," the King said slowly.

"It is so, you were correct in telling him so. There is no harm there, or need to worry," Amorith affirmed.

"Some years later, his mother urged me to let her go see her family. She had not seen them since we had wedded, and they had not seen Legolas. She tried to persuade me to let him go with her, but I could not bear to be parted from my child, my only son. Callous I may seem that I would allow my wife to go, but could not suffer the absence of my son. After she saw there would be no changing my mind, she intended on leaving alone, and so she prepared for her journey, and the following morning she set out. Legolas was very upset; he had never been apart from his mother, and he was wary of me I believe. I have never been always amiable to him. All he knew of me was when he wanted to see me I was busy, when he begged me to play with him, I dismissed him. Too many nights he went to sleep crying, and his mother would argue with me to be gentle hearted with him. I remember them both crying when I finally took him off his mother's breast, and she bid me to be gentle with him as she had bequeathed me to. And I promised her as I watched her leave; her escort surrounding her, for the path through the forest then was very dangerous.

"She left and thankfully reached her home safely. I received word of her safe arrival a fortnight after she had reached there. From her letters I knew she was very happy, and I was glad she was there, but a part of me was apprehensive, for I knew she had a lover, and I was not sure of what would happen. But my wife was loyal to me, and my fears were abated. For several months she stayed, until at last, when Legolas could not stand her absence, and my own heart had grown lonely, I sent for her. Another escort was to bring her, and this time her former lover would be present. I was not sure why then, but I felt uneasy about the arrangement. However, there was nothing that could be done.

"And as if an omen, there was an attack on the delivery of my wine, and so I rode out. Legolas pled with me to stay, but I refused…"

Here, Thranduil paused, and Amorith felt a chill rise in her body.

"I warded the attack successfully, and then we heard of a group of Orcs just south of the palace. We rode with as much haste as we could muster. When we arrived, the Orc host had laid waste to my wife's travelling escort. And she had been killed, and into the blue eyes of her lover I stared as he brought her broken body to me. He never spoke a word to me, even the following day as she was buried. Legolas was beside himself with grief, for there had been none to comfort him in the palace when the news had reached, for I was with his dead mother."

Thranduil descended into tears, and Amorith found herself grieving as well. Such a terrible loss at a young age, there was no wonder why he was anxious about being alone when she accompanied his father. She reached for her harp, and plucking the strings, began a lament for Legolas' mother.


	10. Desperate Call

DISCLAIMERS AND NOTES: I only own the characters that I created; all other recognized characters are J.R.R. Tolkien's possessions. Elvish phrases (Sindarin) come from the website _Council of Elrond_. The song _Love Story_ by Taylor Swift has been borrowed slightly.

**Desperate Call**

The last notes of the song faded away into the night as Thranduil slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on Amorith's bed, a place he had not entered since she left. Time had taken its toll here; everywhere he looked there was a thick layer of dust covering everything. A pang of guilt filled him, but it quickly disappeared. He had come here in the hopes of gaining some sanity but found that he was driven more and more to the edge of insanity. His thoughts were beyond confusion.

He did not know what exactly drove him here tonight, of all places. But he knew that he would not be here if matters between him and Celemirë did not come to what they came to. He was deeply hurt by her utter lack of understanding. Innas had to be sent away for the good of his kingdom. He could not have an internal war within his kingdom now; it would be a critical blow to him. His beloved forest was turning darker with every second; he did not need his kingdom to follow suit, although he already knew that it had already begun to weaken for some time. Not to mention that she had dared to utter in front of him without sign of remorse or shame her name…

It was at times like this that Thranduil longed for a female. He had not touched a woman in awhile, since the time of Amorith, and his body ached to release his pent up energy. But he was not one to take a woman solely to bed her. He had refrained from that habit ages ago. Despite the many rumors that Celemirë was his secret concubine, he had never touched her, although the thought had crossed his mind several times. However, her relationship with his son, and, most importantly, Amorith, made him refrain from doing that. The golden haired maiden had matured alongside Legolas like a sister, and during her time in Mirkwood, Amorith was like a mother to both of them. Even though there was no bond between the Noldo and himself, Thranduil felt it would be almost a sin to take Celemirë for himself.

Thranduil's sapphire eyes roamed over the walls of Amorith's chambers. They were covered with richly decorated tapestries depicting various ancient Elven realms of old. She had woven them herself, so that they were more detailed than any other tapestries Thranduil had ever seen. It was well known that of all the Eldar, the Noldor were most renowned for their great crafting skills and hunger for knowledge, and within Amorith's tapestries, the Elven-king noted her kin's renowned crafting skills passed down to her. After all, was not she the granddaughter of Feänor, the greatest crafter of the entire Elvish race? His very blood flowed through her veins.

"Traitors, all of them! Kinslayers!"

The words were heated as they came from Thranduil's mouth. His gaze fell on a tapestry depicting Doriath and Ossiriand—from where Thranduil came. His fingertips reached out shakily to trace a leaf. Behind his closed eyes, he could picture himself once more in his birthplace. His sire, King Oropher, stood magnificently behind him, smiling broadly at his son. Thranduil would give anything to return to those days of bliss, but he knew he could not. He was King of Mirkwood now, responsible for thousands of subjects, not a Prince, heir to his sire's throne.

As he opened his eyes once more, Thranduil sighed heavily. He knew now why he was here.

This was his retreat when Amorith dwelled within his halls, when his kingdom was fairest since its establishment by his sire, Oropher. In here, he had known nothing save complete happiness and bliss, something that he lacked now. He would come to Amorith at night in his direst need when there was a problem he could not solve on his own, or whenever he had something on his mind, either fair or fell. The first time he came to her was the hardest because he was not used to sharing his thoughts with another. Even when Legolas' mother was alive, he never told her anything, preferring to keep everything within him. Steadily, it became a ritual for Thranduil to come every night to Amorith's bed and lay beside her as she listened to his troubles and worries and offered her advice on various matters. Those were the finest days of Thranduil's rule.

But they were also the most painful now for him after Amorith had revealed herself to him. He could see her plans. She was taking over his throne, so that he was King only by title, but she was the true ruler. The Noldor were indeed skilled in every way, and he had to admit that her plan had worked, if only she had not told him who she really was. That was her downfall.

'If she truly wanted to take over your kingdom…'

Thranduil shook his head. He had come here out of desperation in an attempt to find some answers, but he found that he had more questions than ever before. The once calming effect Amorith's chambers had on him when he simply walked in was no longer at hand. It was replaced with a formidably cold atmosphere, which he knew to be partly his own doing. There was no longer the comfort that he needed here, only indifference.

Turning away from the walls, he made his way back to the bed. He was visibly shaking now as he pulled back the bedcovers and slipped beneath them. Silent tears rolled down his handsome face as memories of Amorith's departure returned to him and the day's events rolled together. He recalled how he had almost struck Celemirë earlier and a wave of guilt washed over him. He had never before struck a woman, and to have almost done so to his singer was very hard for him to accept. He wished now with all of his heart that Amorith were here. He needed her consolations now. She always knew what to tell him to make him feel better.

"I do not need her; I do not need that traitorous Kinslayer!"

He rose suddenly, fists clenched tightly. But his need for her was stronger, and quite reluctantly, he felt himself calling to her in his mind. He tried to stop himself, but he knew it was too late.

…

Amorith was walking slowly behind the three younger Silvan Elves, thinking over many things. She saw a guard talan ahead of her and sighed. Since they had left the riverbank the day prior, she felt that something was amiss, and an intuitive voice told her to cross the river Anduin and go to Thranduil. He needed her, the voice was telling her urgently. Mirkwood was falling into chaos from within and the King greatly desired her presence by his side. Her first sign that something was amiss was when her connection with Thranduil suddenly became alive with many feelings, but mostly utter hate. It went on for some time then faded away, and Amorith thought nothing of it. Lately he had been prone to violent outbursts such as these. Then she sensed great emotions from Innas and Celemirë afterwards, both happiness and sadness combined. She had stopped suddenly at each new feeling from all of them, causing Haldir and his brothers to stop and glance at her curiously. They were alarmed by her sudden and abrupt stops.

"Are you well, Amorith?" Rúmil asked for the tenth time.

It was night. They were safe in a guard talan after traveling all day. Caras Galadhon was another day's walk ahead of them. Haldir was waiting for them so he could speak to Amorith about what she had learned from her watch at the river. He regarded her silently now as his brother approached her carefully, for at times she was known to react harshly.

The Noldor looked dazedly at the marchwarden.

"You were speaking to me?" she asked.

He nodded.

"I am well," she replied with a weak smile.

But in truth, she was far from feeling well. She had just been assaulted by a torrent of Thranduil's emotions. She was happy at feeling something of her bond with him awaken, but anxious about the result if she chose to reach out to him. So she waited nervously for a chance to intervene.

"Amorith."

She looked up into Haldir's face.

"I am coming," she replied.

He nodded once and disappeared behind a heavy curtain. As she rose to follow him, she felt Thranduil call her, and she stopped in her tracks. Her face paled. She had direct access to his mind now, and she saw everything play out before her as if she were present and had witnessed everything herself: Innas' confrontation, Thranduil yelling at him, Thranduil sitting dejected on his throne, Thranduil going to Celemirë and their little episode, and then Thranduil going into her old chambers and lamenting over his past and present. The Noldor slid weakly to the ground, covering her eyes with her hands. She could not bear to see it all. What tormented her especially was Celemirë's face after her King had almost struck her. The maiden's pain and shock was too much. Amorith was oblivious of the crowd gathered around her.

"What have you done, Thranduil?" she cried.

She knew her former lover was deeply stressed and that he was seeking some comfort. That was why he had gone to her room, like he had always done before. But she was no longer there. She would not be in her bed as was her custom, waiting for him with oils to rub into his skin as he unloaded his burdens onto her. She could almost smell his scent and feel his warm skin. He needed her now, despite all that had passed between them.

Would she answer his calls?

Even as she thought of what to do, she felt him stop himself, but it was already done. She had learned everything from him even as he closed his mind off to her. Already he was retreating into his mask of cold demeanor, realizing that he had exposed too much of himself and his weaknesses to her. But he did not cease his calls. He simply waited, as she did. For how long she stood there, Amorith did not know. She felt as if the entire world had stopped and that everything depended on this one decision. She weighed its consequences heavily. Part of her told her to ignore him and not heed him.

'He caused you so much pain!'

She shook her head, biting her trembling lip. Forfirith's words drifted into her thoughts:

"Forget him, Amorith. He does not deserve you, and you do not deserve this torture."

She opened her eyes and found Haldir staring back at her. His face was blank, expressionless. But beneath that mask, he was otherwise. He sensed that her current state was related to Thranduil somehow. He could not tell her what to do; it was her own decision.

She looked away from him and turned her face towards the direction of Mirkwood. Her love for Thranduil was stronger than her pain. She would grant him his wish, if only just this time. She concentrated all of her attention on a single memory, bringing it back in all of its fullest details. Then when the time was right, she opened herself up to the memory and let it envelop her.

Back in the palace, Thranduil became aware of a warm breeze caressing his face. He closed his eyes and gave in to his senses. His memory was drawn back to a single night when he was with Amorith, and they were curled up together in her bed, not saying a single word, but rather enjoying each other's silent company. He had a tiring day and had come for his nightly release. She had been singing a song softly to him, as was her custom, and it was in recollection of one of their earliest moments together, when they had both dwelt in Doriath. Thranduil had invited her to meet his father, so that Oropher could judge her merit for himself. Long had he listened to his son's wistful and whimsical descriptions, and was eager to make the lady's acquaintance. Amorith, upon receiving the invitation, was taken aback. Up to that time, Thranduil had never spoken very warmly to her; instead their conversations had been full of heated words and arguments. He had persisted in making her life as miserable as he possibly could when he had found out about her inclination to forgive the Noldo, to allow them to speak their native Quenyan at the very least. Under guise of being fully Sindar, she spoke outwardly in the court of Elu Thingol about mercy towards those who truly repented of the Noldor, to not begrudge them their heritage. None suspected her, for there were a few even amongst the King's advisors who were of like mind, seeking to alleviate any further grief.

"Have they not truly broken spirits already, that you seek to further humiliate them by robbing them of their customs and traditions, their very language, the language of Valinor?" she had begged, the tears she refused to spill making her vision swim before her.

But Elu Thingol remained adamant in his judgment, and the law was passed that the Noldorin were banned from the use of their native tongue, and thereafter had to replace it with Sindarin. He had sought Amorith alone afterwards, where she had implored him one final time, letting her tears flow like a river, and though his heart melted at her sight, this princess of high and noble standing, he did not repent from his words, knowing well who she was.

"It has been done, my Lady. There is to be no Quenyan uttered ever again on these shores while I breathe," Elu Thingol reaffirmed.

She had fled in her sadness to a balcony, and there Thranduil found her, and gave her the invitation. She had accepted, and there first learned of Thranduil's desire to possess her. Forfirith and Galadriel both had been wary, but Amorith ignored them. Thranduil then on was relentless in his pursuit of her, despite the mistrust of Forfirith and Galadriel. Almost millennia later, in Mirkwood, they lay together, their arguments of old forgotten now. And so Amorith sang:

_We were both young when I first saw you  
I close my eyes  
And the flashback starts  
I am standing there  
On a balcony in summer air_

"I thank the Valar every day, Amorith that you are here beside me every night," he told her.

She looked at him softly, caressing his face with her hands.

"It pleases me to hear that," she said.

"I feel that this night will remain engraved in my mind forever."

"If I should no longer be at your side, and you need me direly, then through this memory I will return to you, if only as a memory, but you shall find the comfort that you need. Draw upon it."

He remembered the way they had kissed, and as he lay there with his eyes closed, fully thrust into this living memory, he felt his own lips meet those of Amorith's. Startled, he opened his eyes and saw her face as clearly as daylight, smiling sadly at him. He was angry with himself but his need for solace was greater, so he closed his eyes again, feeling the way Amorith's body molded with his, the way her taste coursed through him like sweet fire. What he did not utter or show on his face betrayed him now in the way he recalled that memory.

"I am always here for you, Thranduil, no matter the circumstances. I still, and will always, love you. I want you to understand that well, despite what you may think because it is true. And this you know well, for you would not have called upon me tonight in your direst need."

The Elven-king closed his eyes tightly against the tears he was holding back. His anger was returning as quickly as the memory was fading. He attempted to stop it from slipping away, but it was gone as suddenly as it had come. Amorith had been present; he had felt her.

From her position in the talan, Amorith gripped the rails tightly. What she had done drained her of most of her energy as well as her strength. It was an ancient magic that she had just performed. Never before was it seen in Middle-earth, and never again would it be seen. She opened her eyes slowly to find the talan to be deserted except for Haldir.

"Help me," she whispered to him as her legs gave way beneath her.


	11. Fears and Confessions

DISCLAIMER: I only own the characters that I created; all other recognized characters are J.R.R. Tolkien's possessions. Elvish phrases (Sindarin) come from the website _Council of Elrond_. One line was borrowed from the movie _Mr. and Mrs. Smith_. Comments always welcome. Enjoy!

**Fears and Confessions**

Haldir reached Amorith just before she hit the ground. Her skin was clammy and her eyes were glazed, but her hands wrapped around his arms tightly as he lifted her. The marchwarden was amazed that she had some strength left in her body after what she had done. He knew she would need much rest in order to recover fully from her ordeal.

It was a miracle that the talan was empty now, Haldir thought. He knew Amorith would not have liked it if his brothers were watching her being carried by him like a helpless elfling. It was he who ordered them to leave after he felt her inner struggle with Thranduil. He himself wanted to leave, but something held him back, a voice told him that she would need him, and so he reluctantly remained, despite himself.

He lowered his eyes and met her gaze. She seemed to have regained some strength, for her eyes were no longer glazed, but glassy instead. He expected her to cringe away, but she held on tightly to him, as if he were her only lifeline. They studied each other carefully, each noting the other's scent: Haldir smelled of the woods, and Amorith of rare flowers. Under the Captain's steady blue gaze, she felt herself suddenly vulnerable and weak. She did not want him to let go of her, but to continue holding her safely in his arms. The past few days' events, and especially what she learned from Thranduil, had finally gotten to her. She knew that if she did not release what was inside of her, she would go mad.

They reached his private guard talan at last. He made to set her down in a chair but she shook her head. He looked at her questioningly. She had never before allowed anyone to see when she was upset or taken any console, why was she behaving this way?

"Please, do not let me go," she whispered. "I need this, I beg you."

He nodded to her silently and slowly eased himself onto his bed, Amorith still clutching him tightly. He settled her into a more comfortable position. He said nothing, just rocked her back and forth in his strong arms like she was an elfling. It went on for some time before she began to weep, her sobs racking her body in powerful torrents of emotion.

"I cannot go on like this anymore, Haldir. For too long I have held my silence, quelled the storm brewing inside of me, and razed my soul to appease others. I have swallowed my pride so that I may obtain some form of happiness…but it was all for naught. I owe you an explanation, and an apology. An explanation for everything you have suffered through with me these past few days, and an apology for all I have put you through. You were not meant to witness any of this, no one was meant to. There are some matters which are too painful and dark regarding me, and I fear that my silence was my consent to all those lies that have been spread about me. I know you have been considering their truths. Alas, I cannot change time, and who may know, perhaps there is a reason for all this. But tonight I shall clear my name to you, and I beg of you as before, to not let a single nuance of this pass from your lips to another's ears."

She spoke those words strangely; her Sindarin was heavily accented. She looked up at him sadly as tears streamed down her face. Haldir nodded, confirming that he was bound again to secrecy. He managed with great difficulty to control himself; he knew some of the questions he had would be answered. At long last the mystery shrouding Amorith would begin to dissipate.

"You see me as I really am, the broken Noldorin princess Vanimë," she whispered. "For too long I have been two people in one body, sharing one mind but thinking oppositely, viewing things from different perspectives. I no longer know who I am, or what I am doing, nor for what purpose am I living. Why should I go on when everything cherished and beloved to me is lost? My parents are separated. My sire, Caranthir, has long since been dead, the Valar alone know what has become of my mother Olwen. My sister Vanië I lost foolishly, and only now do I repent of what I have done to her. She needs me, Haldir, and I need her. We have no one left for us save each other. No one…"

Her voice faded and she choked back a sob.

"And the one to whom my heart opened up wholly, and I gave my entire soul and life for, has deserted me because of my heritage. All my proof of love to him did not ease his mind, but further persuaded him that I want to end his reign, because of who he is, and because of whom I am," she continued. "Verily the Valar have doomed me. I am cursed, like my sire and my kin who came to this land bearing a great evil. I thought with the destruction of the Silmarilli, everything would be forgotten or forgiven. But it is not so. The Dispossessed we were foretold we would become, and that I have finally achieved for myself, for no home, family, and now, sense of true identity, do I possess; only my guilt, shame, and hurt drive me forth now, yet towards what, I know not.

"You recall the story of the Two Trees of Valinor, and of Fëanor, which I told only several days ago by the riverside? He who created the Silmarilli, those jewels that had no price because their worth was beyond anything of Arda. He is my grandfather, Haldir. The blood of the Kinslayers runs in my veins, the same evil gives me life, allows me to breathe. When I dwelt in Doriath I assumed the heritage of a Sindar, so shamed was I, and there I first met Thranduil. And for all those years, until my coming here, he did not know of my true nature. And when he found out, I was cast out as if I was a mongrel pup that had worn out its welcome. He could not bear that I am Noldor, descendant of Fëanor nonetheless, those who had destroyed his home. Thranduil fears I feigned my love to uproot him from his kingdom, so that no realms except those of Noldor rule remain. I learned the harsh way of his promise to never forget the fall of Doriath, and at whose hands it had occurred. He swore to never speak to me again, and our wedding was absolved. I was forced to leave that very night, without proper farewells to those who I had come to love as my own, and who love me."

She stopped talking, giving in to her tears. Haldir stroked her face in a comforting gesture. She quieted suddenly and closed her eyes, seemingly relaxing.

"He called me tonight, Haldir, and I answered his call. It was weakness on my behalf, giving in to his wishes…for I still love him."

She had whispered it so softly that he hardly caught it. She gripped his tunic tighter.

"What did he ask of you?" he said as evenly as he could.

"His need betrayed him, for he tried to shut me out, but he could not. I read into his mind and learned things I wish I did not know," She swallowed. "Mirkwood is falling."

Haldir's eyes narrowed. Despite his dislike for the Elven-king, based partly because of his love for his maiden, and now Amorith, the Marchwarden took this news not lightly. Placing his dislike of the King aside, Thranduil was an Elf, and if he needed assistance, Haldir felt he had to help him.

"So Dol Guldur has attacked them at last?" Haldir asked.

The Noldo princess shook her head.

"They have not, not yet, at any rate. Mirkwood is falling from within. Chaos reigns within his halls, and he knows it. His own actions compel it further, but there is nothing his advisors tell him that he will heed. So he blunders on blindly alone, while his councilors watch him helplessly from the sides. He has become so withdrawn from everyone that it scares me. Everyone is frightened of him, for he regards all with much suspicion. They are afraid of confronting him with the truth, and if they do, I know he will dispel them. His judgment no longer resides in his halls, only unjust anger. He is frightened for his people and his kingdom very much—do not think otherwise."

Haldir was quiet. He himself had heard of this from the few Mirkwood warriors that had fled their home and joined his ranks. They now served as spies for his Lord and Lady in Dol Guldur. Few knew of this, and Haldir doubted that even Amorith herself knew. Several times Haldir found himself questioning the reasoning behind this, but never did he give voice to his concerns. He trusted in the rule of his Lord and Lady. And now, with what Amorith had told him, he felt it was for the better that she did not know of the Mirkwood spies.

"Is there no one he will listen to, nothing that can be done?" Haldir asked Amorith. "If you return to him, will that help matters any, or worsen them?"

Amorith laughed bitterly.

"If I return to him…" she wept, "I fear he will lose control. He will think I have come to claim his kingdom. You do realize his is one of the last Sindarin realms from the Elder Days? Only the Grey Havens, under Círdan's rule, remains. Should I return to him now, he will claim that I am only acting as savior to steal Mirkwood from him. He will blame all the calamities on me, that they are my doing. He is confused and pressured, and knows not what he does, or for what purpose he does them. And I have deserted him at a time that his need for me is greatest! Oh, what have I done?"

"You did not desert him, Amorith," Haldir told her soothingly. "It is his own doing that you are now apart from him, and he must pay the price, however heavy. You must not blame yourself for the doings of others, though you may feel that you should. It is his own blindness to see the purity of your heart that corrupts him."

She quieted again and closed her eyes. Then she continued:

"I saw many dark things from his mind tonight. I do not understand them, but I know they are not fair tidings. He has harmed two people dear to my heart, and, in doing so, he has harmed himself. I sense his sorrow and lament, but he does not feel remorse except for one, and that is Celemirë. She is like a sister to Legolas, and a daughter to me."

Her gray eyes opened again and she searched Haldir's face intently.

"A great shadow fills the world now, and the hearts of many are quavering. If this Fellowship of all of Middle-earth's Free Peoples does not prevail, then we are forever lost. If we do not unite and forget our differences, we will be utterly crushed," she said. "Sauron has waited long for this moment, and he will unleash all his powers on us."

She sighed.

"Forgive me for forcing you to listen to me. I am quite old, even by our own standards, and the old always reminisce on the past and what is to come. And there is nothing I have left now to do except lament and wonder if I could have changed things," she apologized. "I feel I am coming to the end of my path, and perhaps at the end one starts to think of the beginning, of how it all started."

Haldir smiled.

"I did not mind at all listening to you. I have gained much insight and knowledge regarding various matters, the most important being you. _Avo 'osto_ (fear not), Amorith, not a word of what you said will reach the ears of anyone else. Your secrets are safe within me," he told her. "Now, if you gave me permission, I would like to address you."

She smiled thankfully at him and nodded, indicating that he could speak freely. The Marchwarden took a deep breath and held her tightly as he spoke:

"There are always secrets we try to keep out of sight, none of us is exempt. It is the way of the world. The darker those secrets, the more a person becomes caught up in hiding them, until it becomes one's obsession. I will not deny I have always been curious about you, wondering why it was you kept to yourself, why you preferred the company of the Lord and Lady above the company of your fellow guardsmen. I sensed your disdain when you were amidst the common folk, but I said nothing. I knew that for every action there was a reason, and I presumed you had your reasons. But I did not fail to notice those times when you were alone, or so you thought, and you came to life. It was as if a spell was lifted, and you were free. Every night the new moon was born, you took to the trees, singing and dancing, and though I could not understand the words, I knew you were yourself. I felt as if you were bound to your grief, unable to break away, as if it were in your very core. But even though, I saw your soul burn despite all this with a light that could not be extinguished, and I knew then that one with such a spirit could not be anything but pure. I took my observations and questions to Lady Galadriel, and she told me everything. I know you Vanimë, and you are not what they say, nor are you what you think of yourself. You are not tainted.

"Amorith, I do not think you have lost everything, nor are you doomed. You must not take your sires' sins upon yourself, for you took no part in them. You were dragged here, along with your sister, against your wills. Your taking of new identities further proves this point: you only did so in an attempt to hide your connection to that evil. For who would forsake themselves to preserve their own lives, except those who are fleeing from their shame? But it is not your shame you flee from, but the shame of your own kin that engulfs you. Likewise, you must not feel that you deserted Thranduil. I understand why he sundered you from him, as I am confident you understand better than me, but it was his own doing, and he must suffer the consequences of his actions, be they fell or fair. I know that it is not easy for you because of the love that you carry within yourself for him, but do not torment yourself anymore because of it. I wish I could lift your burdens from you, but all I can offer you is my sympathy," Haldir told her quietly. "And my heart."

Amorith stared up into his blue eyes, lost for words.

"For too long have I watched you suffer silently, for too long have I seen the hurt and pain in your eyes against my own will. I have long since wanted to tell you how much I care about you, but I feared you would reject me. I know I am no mighty Eldarin prince, or a high noble Sindarin lord. But I am Haldir, High Captain of the Golden Wood, and I offer you all of my heart and soul. I care not that you are Caranthir's daughter, nor that your kin are responsible for perhaps the worst doings of our race, all I care for is you," he said passionately. "I will always be at your command, ready to give my life for you if needed. I know this is sudden and unexpected, and I fully understand that you are still in love with Thranduil, but should you change your mind, I am awaiting you. If there is no one that will stand by your side, I will always be there for you. This is all that I want you to know: you may come to me whenever you need anything."

He ran his hand down her neck and laid it to rest on her bosom. He lowered his head to meet her lips in a passionate kiss and was delighted when she responded to him, tending to her need. He was surprised when she slipped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer to her. Their eyes locked together in an unbreakable trance.

"_Gerich veleth nín_ (you have my love), Amorith, always and forever," he whispered as he ended their kiss. "You mean everything to me, sweet one, everything."

Fresh waves of tears assaulted her.

"Those were the words Thranduil whispered to me every night, Haldir. I am afraid to trust them again wholeheartedly, only to be broken a second and final time," she said.

He placed his finger on her lips gently to silence her.

"I will make an oath then: if I am ever dishonest, the Valar must strike me dead," he said.

She squeezed her eyes shut against her tears.

"May I sleep with you, Haldir?" she asked quietly. "For tonight only?"

He smiled as he lay beside her and drew her to his chest in a strong and firm yet gentle hold. Her arms went about him again as she willed herself to rest.

"The Valar alone know how much I treasure you and fear for your safety," he told her.


	12. Amorith's Accord, Parting Paths

NOTES AND DISCLAIMER: All recognized characters are Tolkien's creations; the remainders are my own possessions. Sindarin Elvish phrases from _Council of Elrond_, a website. As always, comments greatly appreciated. Enjoy this chapter.

**Amorith's Accord, Parting Paths**

Haldir held the Noldorin princess tightly against him as she wept silently. He was surprised at the two very different and opposing sides of Amorith he now knew: Vanimë, the vulnerable and shamed, and Amorith, the hard and strong. Knowing this now, he came to understand her better. Now he could give an explanation to previous instances, when she could be visibly seen as fighting internally as to how react. He recalled various times when she would appear as if to change from one form to another within a matter of moments before his eyes. Amorith existed to protect Vanimë. That much he gathered now from what he saw and heard from her tonight. As strong as she was, she was also fragile. He could sense it now even as he held her in his arms. How could she not be, after all that she had undergone? It was a miracle that she was sane, he privately thought. He would not know what to do if he had as deep a secret as hers, and to dwell amongst those who spoke ill of her. He could understand her disdain on the commoners now, no matter how incorrect he still thought it was. Haldir felt as though she did not attempt to seek his approval or to justify herself and her actions, she merely told him how things were and how she felt. How much restraint had she enforced to keep everything to herself he did know, but could only admire.

For how long he stayed awake, Haldir knew not. He was awake when Amorith's cries subsided and she resorted to rest. When he changed his position slightly to get more comfortable, she whimpered softly, begging him to remain with her.

"I am not leaving you, beautiful one," he whispered to her, tightening his hold on her in a reassuring manner. "I will never leave you alone, Vanimë."

She quieted down and her eyes became unfocused. She had fallen into the Elven dream state, in which she would find rest. Her shallow rhythmic breathing lulled him to rest.

They lay together, both resting, for many hours. Several hours before dawn, Amorith stirred. She was startled at first to find herself within her strong Captain's arms, their bodies perfectly intertwined, her head resting comfortably on his chest. Her face flushed as the previous night's happenings streamed back into her mind. Slowly she eased herself out of Haldir's embrace and left his bed for the balcony.

The cool early morning air freshened and awoke her fully. Her conversation with Haldir was still fresh in her mind, and she replayed it thoroughly. She had told him more than she wanted to, but there was no way to reverse it. He had promised her that he would tell no one, and Haldir was not one to take his words back lightly. Since her days in Mirkwood, Amorith had opened herself up to another man, and it frightened her. Haldir knew so much about her now. Even though she knew he could be trusted, Amorith was hesitant. What if he turned into another Thranduil? Where would she flee next? What would become of her? And what if he was not a second Thranduil? What if he truly loved her? He held something back from her, and no matter how hard she tried to pry it from his mind, she could not discern the reason for his slight showing of disregard for the Elven-king. Although she understood his concern for his Silvan kin beyond the river; she would not prod him. She recalled how he had confessed of his private observations of her, how he had asked Galadriel about her. Amorith was unsure of what to make of this; she felt partly flattered and partly suspicious. She had never gone out of her way to attract any attentions of his, nor any other man.

Leaning on the railing for support, she felt her diary concealed in her leggings. Checking quickly to make sure that Haldir was still resting, Amorith withdrew her diary. The cover glistened brightly in the moonlight as the title caught the silver rays. It had been awhile since she had made an entry, and her mind ached with the burden inside of her. Her diary was her only release from her internal struggles. She opened the book with trembling hands and seated herself on the floor, one hand on her temple, one on a blank page. She closed her eyes and concentrated her efforts on recalling all the events that had occurred since her last entry in all their vividness. Not a single minute detail did Amorith omit, but focused on transferring everything as exactly it had happened. She waited for a few moments, breathlessly, before the familiar sensation took over her mind. It felt as if her mind was being pressurized, and she felt disoriented and dizzy, as her memories filled up her diary. The pages of her diary turned as they were filled, leaving behind only written words in the ancient Quenyan language. Although it appeared to be a simple task, in truth it was very draining. This skill was very hard to perform. It was one of the few things she was proud to admit to have learned from her grandsire, Feänor, the greatest Elven crafter.

She remained seated on the balcony floor until dawn came, and she awoke from her rest. She heard Haldir moving in his bedroom and she quickly hid her diary in her leggings.

"There you are," he said as he opened the curtain separating his bedroom and balcony.

She managed to paste a smile on her face.

"I hope you rested well," he told her, coming beside her.

"Always the gentleman and properly mannered. I did rest well, and you?" she replied.

"I regained my strength."

They stood beside each other, many unspoken words on their tongues.

"I must apologize for my actions last night. _Goheno nin_ (forgive me)," she said.

"_Ú-moe edaved_ (it is not necessary to forgive)," he told her. "I told you I will always be here for you, and if you need anything, and I do mean anything, just come to me. I fully understand the circumstances that drove you these last few nights, and I am honored to have helped you in a small way. I assure you again that no one else will learn about it," he said.

"Then you will not be hurt if I be truthful with you. I am afraid, Haldir. It is not you that scares me, but at the same time, it is you that frightens me."

She spoke those words into his mind.

He nodded in understanding.

"I know," he whispered. "I gained much insight about you last night, Amorith. You truly are two different individuals living together in the same body."

"Then you understand why I am this way, why I am hesitant about many things."

Again, she spoke into his mind. It was quite eerie for him, as she had her back to him, but he heard her voice clearly as if she had spoken them to him directly.

"You do not have to explain anything to me, Amorith. You are not accountable to none save yourself. But if you wish to ease your burden, then I do not mind."

She turned her head towards him, laughing.

"Speaking of accountability, I did not inform you of the mission we returned from. With last night's…excitement, I forgot," she chuckled, shaking her dark head.

"Do tell me," Haldir smiled. "For I myself forgot to ask you. What did you see alone on the riverbank?"

"We kept watch for several days and nights almost separately as you know, but the only matter I can report back is that the Orcs are gathered, and every night more join their numbers."

The Captain was silent.

"Do you have any ideas about this?" he asked.

Even though Amorith was a mere guard under his order, Haldir often asked her advice on matters such as this. He knew that she had much wisdom and knowledge that would greatly benefit him and aid his planning.

"I am afraid that I do not have any ideas, but I sense something utterly evil." she replied.

Haldir nodded and sighed heavily.

"I share that same formidable feeling, Amorith. The reports I receive daily do not ease my mind at all. I feel helpless; I do not know what to do," he confided.

Amorith was reminded of Thranduil as Haldir spoke, and a strangling feeling overcame her. But she was able to compose herself before he noticed.

"We must trust in the Valar," she said. "I know I have all these long years, and it is the sole driving force keeping me forward."

"That is the only thing remaining, and if we lose faith, then we are truly all forsaken," he said to her quietly.

They remained in uncomfortable silence for some time.

"Where are your brothers?" Amorith asked, trying to divert his mind and break the silence.

"They left last night. There is no one here but us," he replied.

"To Caras Galadhon undoubtedly?"

Haldir nodded.

"Shall I prepare the morning meal, even though it is a bit late?" she said.

"That would be wonderful," the Marchwarden said gratefully.

"Then, if you will excuse me…"

He watched her leave the balcony and descend to the main talan of the watch post. His mind wandered off as she prepared the meal, and half an hour later, she was at his side.

"The meal is ready," she informed him.

They descended together and enjoyed the small meal that Amorith had prepared. They talked about various things as they ate, and the uncomfortable feeling that they both had began to fade. Soon, they were both laughing about one of the newly joined wardens.

"I remember my first time I wielded a bow," Amorith managed to say between laughs. "But I did not make such a mistake, my sister Forfirith did."

But she stopped suddenly, pained at the mention of her twin's name.

"Is something amiss?" Haldir asked.

"Let us go to Caras Galadhon," she said quickly.

"As you wish."

She hurriedly cleaned after their meal before gathering her things. Haldir took a few minutes to gather his items and make sure his private talan was tidied. His mind wandered to the occurrence of the previous night, when Amorith had lain so desolately in his arms, weeping uncontrollably, as he had rocked her into ease.

They did not speak for most of the journey, as Amorith withdrew into herself, and the few times he tried to engage her in a conversation she ended it as hastily as she could. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, though why he did not understand. In fact, he did not understand her current mood. Haldir tried to see if he had done or said anything that might have hurt her, but he found none.

"It is not of your doing," she said in a quavering voice.

It was now mid-afternoon, and they were halfway through their journey to Caras Galadhon. This was the first sentence she had said on her own since the morning.

They were stopped beneath a pair of towering mallorn trees. The leaves rained down softly upon their heads, swirling in the air as if in a dance.

She wiped her face before turning towards him, and he was saddened to see that her face was quite pale. She had been weeping silently without him knowing.

"There is so much for me to think about now; I am very overwhelmed," she told him.

"Understandable," Haldir replied.

"There is something I must tell you. I have been trying to think of an appropriate manner to tell you, but there is none. So I suppose I must tell you some way."

The Lórien Captain stood puzzled as he watched the Noldo princess shift uncomfortably before him. She turned her back, as if that would somehow empower her.

"Last night, I felt so secure with you, Haldir, like I have never felt before," she began softly, so that Haldir had to move closer to her to hear her. "I have not felt that way since my time in Mirkwood with Thranduil. I have an accord to make with you."

She paused momentarily, taking a deep breath before continuing:

"If Thranduil does not end our feud, then I promise you myself. For I sensed truth in the words you spoke to me, and sincerity in your heart. Should this happen—that you will have me—then I beg of you to treat me carefully, for I will not live if my heart breaks again. This is my accord, Amorith's accord, so that Vanimë may live once more."

…

Celemirë found herself at the doors of the throne room early the following morning. It had taken a great deal of effort on her part to muster enough strength to drag herself here. Her face held a tranquil look, but deep inside of her she was far from tranquil. After Thranduil had left her to nurse her wounded soul, she came to a resolution with herself: that she would never forgive her King for his betrayed hand. Realizing the limited abilities she possessed, and aware that she was unable of following Innas, she decided upon a single course of action: to hurt Thranduil as much as she could. He took away the two individuals that mattered most to her; she would take away the relief that she provided to him. She smiled secretly inside.

"Sire, the singer is here," a guard called to the King, as the doors opened.

"Ah, good to see you have returned," he told her when she entered.

"It is a pleasure to be serving you, my liege."

Thranduil's eyes lifted to meet those of the maiden standing before him.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"I am your singer, my king," said the maiden. "Taria is my name."

"Celemirë!" the King roared.

"Celemirë! That is my secret name! The messenger was telling the truth then, you truly do desire me after you heard my voice in the kitchens. I am very honored to have been assigned this glorious position. I cannot tell you how the other maidens loathed me for this choice," she giggled.

Thranduil closed his eyes shut, realizing what had been done.

"Damn you, Celemirë, sending me this fool of a maiden!" he muttered.

"Would you like me to sing for you? I prepared a special one!" Taria said.

"Not at the moment. There is an error, Taria—"

"Please my liege, I am Celemirë," she whispered. "And there is no error. The messenger came to the kitchens last night seeking out the maiden named Celemirë, and that is I. No other maiden with that name exists."

Thranduil opened his mouth to argue, but at that moment a servant appeared, informing him that the morning meal is ready.

"Come along, then," he told Taria.

He led the maiden through the halls and into the dining hall. He was livid with rage at what Celemirë had done to him. She had not only removed herself from her position as the King's personal singer, but also replaced herself with the type of maiden Thranduil despised. Taria was everything the Elven-king hated in a woman. But he would deal with Celemirë later, once he found out where she was. He did not think she left the palace. She was not daft enough to believe that she would survive outside the palace walls.

As he seated himself, with Taria bubbling beside him, a maiden came to fill his goblet. He hardly paid any attention to her until her eyes were level with his. Celemirë was smiling back at him.

"Celemirë!" he hissed, trying to avoid Taria overhearing.

"I beg your pardon my liege, but I do think you are mistaken," she said, in the same shrill tone as Taria. "My name is Naegiel."

"What in the name of Eru have you done?" he seethed.

She pulled away, but he quickly reached out his arm and grabbed her hand. Celemirë smiled sweetly at him and said:

"My lord has had too much to drink. Please, kind lady," she said, addressing Taria, "make sure you do not let him drink too much wine."

Celemirë hurried away from the table and darted out the door, but the King caught up to her before she could escape.

"Celemirë! I demand you to explain yourself! Now!" he fumed.

She placed the jug she held in her hands on a nearby table.

"It is better that I serve a starving people, devoid of a proper King, then serve one who is blind to all light, who sinks himself further into dark. You have a proper singer now, one who will listen to your every word. And might I add," Celemirë sniggered, "one who is quite taken with you. She has replaced my position entirely, including my chambers," she said.

Thranduil stared at her.

"You have hurt me in many ways, and have lost my respect and love. I cannot think of you now save as a cold hearted King, who allows his anger to guide the rulings of this land. If Mirkwood falls, it will be because of your doing. And if the Golden Wood falls, then I shall tell everyone the true story—you allowed it to fall," Celemirë told him.

"How dare you!" Thranduil whispered, shaking his fists.

"You do not scare me anymore," she said, looking him full in the face. "The mark you almost left to burn into my skin I shall never forget, or forgive."

"Celemirë, I offer you my sincerest apologies," he said.

She held her hands up.

"I will hear none of it. If you truly offer your sincerest apologies, then let Innas return here, and harken to his council," She closed her eyes before adding, "And fulfill your promise to Amorith. She had done naught but love you and improve the kingdom."

"Impossible," he told her. "All of it impossible!"

"Then I shall take my leave, as I see our paths are parting."

"Traitors, all of you!" Thranduil screamed at her back as she left.


	13. Promises

NOTES AND DISCLAIMER: As always, any recognizable characters belong to Tolkien. References to Amorith as Vanimë will be used when describing her real self.

**Promises**

Amorith awoke late that morning. Her body and mind were exhausted, and no amount of shaking or calling from her maiden would awaken her. So it was that the frustrated maiden gave up on further attempts and left her mistress to rest. It was ere around noontime when the Noldo princess emerged from her private talan, blinking in the sunlight. They had arrived late during the night, and she was thankful for the sight of her talan then. Haldir and his brothers had bid her a good night's rest before leaving her to go rest themselves. The Captain had tarried a little, some unspoken thoughts on his mind, but Amorith had ascended to her talan before he could voice them aloud. Having no choice then, he hurried after his brothers, lest they begin to question him. There was no need for them to know about his connection with Amorith, and even if she had not made him promise to keep what occurred to her hidden, there would be no power that could let him do so anyway. Rest came sweetly to him, just as it did to Amorith.

"A good day to you, my lady," came a voice.

Amorith turned and found herself facing a courtier. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips, his eyes staring directly into hers. She managed to appear calm, though she was anything but that within.

"It is good to see that the Valar have preserved our Lady." he continued. "Caras Galadhon is not as spirited as when you are present. I do wish you would leave your position as a guard, for one so fair as you should not be in the forefront of danger. There are men plenty enough to protect the borders."

"It is good to be back," Amorith said simply.

"If I may," he said, holding out his arm to her.

She inclined her head and allowed the courtier to lead her by the hand. She was planning to take the day in total ease, even if it meant that she would have to succumb to this man's attention, unwanted as it was. But perhaps he would be the perfect diversion so she would stop thinking. So she smiled at him as he led her through the talan network of Caras Galadhon. She would allow him to bask in her presence for today.

Haldir caught sight of them near a pool, high above. Beside him stood his two brothers. A surge of anger coursed through him.

"Thorion…" he whispered under his breath.

"Perhaps the Lord and Lady sent him to discuss something with her; he is a courtier after all," Oropher said.

"Perhaps…" Haldir said, turning away to tend to important matters.

So it was that Amorith spent most of the day in Thorion's company, listening to his endless conversations about various matters. He was pleased that the lady was thoroughly enjoying herself, for she had a delicate smile on her lips and her eyes glistened. So he forged ahead with his speech, telling her about every little topic he could think of, so eager to have found someone willing to listen to him, especially Amorith. Yet her ears perceived not one nuance he said, for while she appeared to be engrossed in his conversation, her mind had long since wandered off on other subjects she found more appealing. Thorion lost track of time, so absorbed was he in her company that he did not realize that the hour of evening had approached until he heard the voice of Haldir calling from above to Amorith. Not wishing to stop, he held his hand out towards Haldir, keeping his gaze focused on Amorith.

"One moment my esteemed Captain, until I finish this story," he called back to the warrior.

But Haldir would have none of it, and he raced down the talan ladders until he reached the two Elves. He was alone now, his brothers elsewhere, so he did not now hide his emotions as closely as before. Amorith's gray eyes regarded him with amusement as he directed his attention to the courtier.

"I have been sent by order of the Lord and Lady themselves to bring back Amorith," Haldir told him curtly.

"But of course," Thorion hastened, rising to his feet and kissing Amorith's hand. "I thank you for your time today, my Lady."

"Pleasure is all mine," Amorith replied.

When the courtier was gone Haldir turned to her.

"Did you honestly enjoy his company?" he asked, trying to keep his voice cool.

"He was highly entertaining," Amorith mused.

"Such a bumbling fool who cannot keep his mouth closed—entertaining!"

Amorith laughed, taking hold of Haldir's arm.

"Are you jealous of him, my lord?" she asked merrily.

"What could I possibly be jealous of?" Haldir spat. "Thorion is nowhere in my league, even though he is a courtier to my Lord and Lady."

But in essence he was jealous. How could Amorith have spent an entire day with him? What did he have to offer her that Haldir could not? There was nothing at all merit worthy in Thorion. If the courtier thought he could impress Amorith with his status, Haldir scoffed at him silently. Amorith's nobility far outweighed Thorion's courtier status. Surely she could see through Thorion's pitiful shallow guise?

"Do you seriously think I did not know what he was truly after?"

She stopped walking and turned fully to face him.

"Have you forgotten my accord already?"

"Never, that is, if you truly mean it," Haldir said hesitantly.

Amorith turned her back.

"And who am I, to not uphold my word? The Noldor keep their vows. Is it taught that the Noldor are no keepers of promises to Sindar and Silvan?"

Her words had a touch of iciness to them.

"I did not mean that at all," Haldir said quickly.

"Let us hasten to the Lord and Lady, they must not be kept waiting," Amorith said, linking her arm through his.

So it was that they continued in silence. Beneath her hardened exterior, Amorith was thoroughly enjoying herself. She had manipulated Haldir to her whims. She had no intent of such a thing, but took great delight in the matter when the opportunity had risen. It was the sort of thing she took great pleasure in, playing on the fears of men. Oh how Vanimë loved it! She bit down on her lip to refrain herself from laughing out loud, but her body shook with the effort. Haldir, thinking she was weeping, stopped.

"I am very sorry," he told her earnestly, turning her to face him.

But he met her twinkling eyes and peals of soft laughter instead. However, she wanted Haldir to learn a very important lesson as well. His words had stung her, and she would not dismiss them that lightly.

"I have driven her mad!" he thought privately.

"Amorith?" Haldir asked cautiously, unsure of himself and the situation.

"Oh, come, let us dance!" Amorith cried.

They had neared the private talan of the Lord and Lady, and the music the minstrels were playing was enticing. It was a favorite song of the Noldo princess, which Lady Galadriel had ordered to be played for the occasion. Every night of the full moon, as tonight, Vanimë would dance in the pale silver light reflected under the stars to a singular song of her composure. This habit had started long ago, in the Age of the Two Trees in Valinor, and Amorith continued it in Middle-earth, just as she had resumed the dance to her own song after the Light of the Trees had been stolen by Melkor. This was her one pure joy, born in the blessed land hither, that she could still continue in Middle-earth without fear of retribution, something that tethered her still to her true self. Lady Galadriel had allowed this passion of Vanimë to be threaded into the routine life of the Galadhrim, until they believed it was an archaic custom of the Noldor that they still preserved in honor of their Lady.

Haldir was flushed, uncertain of whether or not he should do as she told. She eyed him with her head cocked to one side.

"Are you ashamed of dancing with me?" she asked him.

"Never! But I—" Haldir proclaimed.

"Well then, come on!" Amorith said, grabbing his hands and pulling him to her as she began to dance. "Do not look dismal so! Dance, come!"

Helplessly, Haldir gave himself to Amorith. But she seemed not to heed him any longer, instead allowing the music to take control of herself. Her eyes were closed as her body moved fluidly, and she appeared altogether to be dancing for another purpose. Haldir resorted to snaking his arms around her waist, and she leaned her head back onto his chest, smiling. Her soft voice, singing, attracted the attention of the courtiers, who had heard them arguing. They hastened out of their Lord and Lady's court to watch the incredible scene before them: Haldir and Amorith dancing.

Haldir became aware of the scene slowly fading before his eyes. He clutched tighter onto Amorith, fearing what was happening. He found himself standing alone in a clearing. Although he felt the Noldo's body, he no longer could see her. The same music was playing, but the wood was not the Golden Wood. He spotted Lady Galadriel sitting away from him, but the Lord Celeborn was not with her. He hastened to her.

"Lady…" he said, reaching out towards her.

But she did not hear him. And then Haldir understood: Amorith had taken him into her memory.

He heard her voice, and that of another man. For a moment his heart leaped, for he recognized the blond head as his own. So Amorith was dreaming of the both of them together!

But it was not so, for the face that stared back at him was not his.

"Thranduil!" he whispered.

Lady Galadriel smiled, almost as if she had heard him. She rose.

"Is this him?" she questioned Amorith. "Thranduil?"

"It is indeed, my dear friend," Amorith replied.

Haldir looked upon her. She seemed much younger here and carefree. Her face was illuminated, and she appeared much like a delicate flower, prone to wilting without warning. So this was Amorith's real self: Vanimë. It was small wonder then that Thranduil loved her. Gone was the pain in her eyes, and the masked haughtiness. There was only softness about her, an untainted innocence. She carried herself proudly, her love resonating like an invisible force. The harshness in her countenance that was her custom was not present.

But his attention was focused back to Galadriel, who had her gaze fixed sternly upon Thranduil. He looked back at her defiantly, his head held high and proudly. Haldir knew the Lady's look well: she was searching him. Thranduil's blue eyes were penetrating as he looked at the Lady. Haldir could feel the tension thicken the air around him.

"I am told you are akin to King Thingol, Sindarin King," Thranduil said.

Haldir saw Amorith pale slightly. Lady Galadriel met Thranduil's blue eyes with her own at his emphasis of the word Sindar. A small calculating smile crept onto her face.

"I am," she said.

Haldir heard these words that the Lady spoke, but his mind was suddenly filled with the words that she spoke into Amorith's mind.

"I fear for you Vanimë; dark days are ahead of you."

Amorith turned her gray eyes somberly upon Lady Galadriel.

"Will I lose Thranduil?"

Lady Galadriel did not answer.

"Lord Celeborn is my husband," she said aloud to Thranduil, as if that was the answer. "We dwell with King Thingol in peace."

But Amorith's voice penetrated the Lady's mind.

"Will I lose him, Galadriel? We promised ourselves to each other already."

Haldir was aware of the scene darkening before him, and found himself momentarily in a small clearing. The moon was just emerging from behind the clouds, casting its pale light on the woodland below. Amorith was standing, her back towards the Marchwarden. A few moments later, Thranduil appeared. Amorith did not turn at the sound of his footsteps.

"I looked everywhere for you in the palace; are you feeling well?" Thranduil asked her softly. "Are you anxious about tomorrow?"

Amorith took a deep breath.

"Of course I am. I have waited so long for tomorrow," she whispered. "And now that it is here I dare not believe it to be anything save a dream."

"As have I. Most everyone knows we are together, but it needs to be official. My counselors were kind enough to be persistent about that topic. But there were those wars to fight. There can be no peace if there are enemies to fight, understandably," Thranduil said.

"I must confess that my anxiety is not about the long wait I persevered. I have waited longer for things more challenging than this. That is not my qualm. There is something I want to tell you, but am afraid to."

Thranduil smiled down lovingly at her.

"Why should you be afraid of me, my dear? You of all people should never utter those words. Nothing you can say will upset me," he said.

"Do you know who I am, Thranduil?" Amorith said, eyes closed.

Haldir could almost feel the apprehension in the air around him.

"What a silly question my dear! You are my Amorith, my beloved!" Thranduil laughed. "Do calm yourself down."

But the look on Amorith's face caused the Elven-king to be uneasy.

"Does the name Caranthir mean anything to you?" she asked.

Thranduil's eyes darkened.

"I am his daughter."

Haldir waited with bated breath.

"Why do you tell me this?" Thranduil said, his voice becoming icy.

"I have wanted to tell you from before, but could never find the courage. I felt that tonight was the best time," Amorith replied, her body tensing.

Thranduil now had a deadly look on his face as he turned towards her.

"You wished to take my kingdom! By feigning utter love!" he seethed. "Your family did not rest until Doriath was ruined, and now you wish to fulfill the Oath and take my Eryn Galen!"

"You have lived with me for many years now to know me better than that. I realize that relations between our people were not the friendliest, but I hoped you would see my honest intentions. I left my father and family because I was ashamed of what they have done. I dwelt in Doriath peacefully, and its ruin grieves me greatly. Many times I have risked my life for you and Eryn Galen; I love you Thranduil."

"Leave my lands," he said heatedly.

"You must see the truth! You cannot desert me now for being Noldo!"

"Your being Noldo is every reason in the world to leave you! You are lucky there are no guards, or that I carry no weapon, or else I would have you killed. I made a promise to myself that if ever I came upon those wretched Kinslayers I would take revenge for Doriath and my father's death—if Doriath had not fallen we would not have left—myself!" Thranduil said, beside himself with rage.

Amorith, grief stricken, was trembling. Her Noldo accent took over her:

"Thranduil, you cannot do this to me. Ever since I have arrived at these lands, I have been forced to create another personage to hide under and survive. You were the only one who made me feel truly alive and love myself. I gave you everything, fought beside you in all your battles. I was proving my love to you. We are to be joined tomorrow, you cannot speak so."

Thranduil gave a harsh laugh that caused even Haldir to feel cold.

"I hold no promises with Kinslayers!" he spat.

The scene faded out on Haldir, and he found himself once more in his Golden Wood, Amorith dancing between his arms, the courtiers gathered around them, smiling politely as they gossiped behind their hands. And he heard the Noldo princess' voice sternly in his mind:

"Who am I to break promises, Haldir? Promises are all I live for, promises of a happier and brighter future. Why should I break them?"


	14. Councils

Disclaimer and notes: I will be referring to Vanimë and Amorith within the same sentence from now on: Vanimë indicates the true pure side, Amorith the aggressive protective shell. Once again, all characters that are not my own belong to Tolkien.

**Councils**

Amorith sat opposite Haldir, near Lady Galadriel. She waited patiently in her seat as guards ushered courtiers out of the court, leaving only the Lord and Lady alone with Amorith and Haldir. Both of them respectfully bowed their heads to the rulers.

"Thank the Valar that both of you are safe," Lord Celeborn began, as he seated himself. "If the reports I hear are correct, then there will be dark times ahead for the Golden Wood."

This was addressed directly to Haldir.

"You are correct, my liege, those are indeed what the reports say," the Marchwarden confirmed, handing a few pieces of parchment to Celeborn. "Here is my final assessment that you ordered."

"The Orcs simply gather in numbers at the edge of Mirkwood," Galadriel spoke with her voice as if from afar, her eyes closed.

"Indeed, I do not understand this myself," Amorith said, shaking her head.

"Did you see this yourself?" Celeborn asked her.

"Certainly, Lord. I went with Haldir and his brothers. We watched the opposite shore for two days, each one of us observing from a separate location, and nothing occurred, just more and more Orcs gathering there," Amorith nodded her dark head. "They do not seem to be even attacking Mirkwood, but this is not for sure—I am simply basing this on what I have seen from one riverbank across to the other."

"A worthy observation nonetheless," Haldir told her approvingly, to which she acknowledged with a slight nod of her head.

Celeborn looked up from the parchments in his hand. His brow was furrowed in thought.

"If they are not attacking, what are they gathering for?" he asked.

"If I knew sire, I would have long told you," Haldir sighed.

Galadriel's blue eyes flickered open suddenly.

"What do you see?" Celeborn asked her.

But she shook her golden head.

"Naught save darkness; it is closed off to me," she whispered, looking at Amorith.

The Noldo princess sat stiffly in her chair.

"Does Thranduil know of this?" Celeborn asked.

A voice broke out in coarse laughter.

"Oh, but of course he knows! Do not think he is ignorant of this fact, even though he thinks we are. A fly does not stir within Mirkwood without his knowing," Amorith said, gray eyes storming. "How very polite of him to pass on the warning!"

"Maybe he just realized," Haldir said.

But Amorith stood, pacing the room.

"We knew of them when, four days ago? And even then there was a great amount, and the camp was fairly decent. I venture to guess that they were there before we spotted them at least a week. He would have learned of their movements before that. So let us say he had a fortnight's knowledge of them. If he truly wanted us to know, we would have received word by now. But he will not," Amorith said coolly.

"And why not?" Haldir asked, then instantly realized his mistake.

"Do you know anything of the Elder Days, when Elf was pitted against Elf? Sindarin against Noldor? The Kinslaying?" Amorith said, her voice heavily accentuated, and all three realized that it was Vanimë. A shadow fell over her, and her voice was both harsh and soft at once. Haldir was confused, since she had told him, but he recalled his promise to her to not let anything that had occurred those few days be known to anyone. "I know him better than anyone. He will view the Orcs as a threat to just his realm. He will do anything to protect Mirkwood. He will not send us any warning or relief, for we are his enemy. This will be an opportunity for his nemesis, Lady Galadriel, to perish and for him to reclaim his lost land. Do you understand now, Haldir? He still clings to the old wounds of old: Sindar versus Noldor."

Celeborn and Galadriel looked away. Haldir noted the silent manner in which they communicated with each other, exchanging only glances.

"I know what Thranduil means to you, Amorith, but there is something—"

Suddenly the shadow fell away, leaving a terrible being in its wake. Vanimë was livid.

"You think _aran_ Thranduil has joined with the Enemy?" her voice was deadly quiet, her face inches from Haldir.

He saw Lady Galadriel hold her hand against her husband, who was on his feet, meaning to make for Amorith. Haldir forced a calm expression on his face to quell her anger.

"I am merely entertaining all possibilities. Nothing can be overlooked, Marchwarden."

He spoke to her in an authoritative manner, staring back at her. She seemed to shrink.

"Why does everyone judge him so harshly? He is not evil; he is merely hurt," she cried.

Galadriel rose to her feet gracefully and strode over to Vanimë as she spoke, her heavy Noldo accent quite apparent now.

"Ever loving my kinswoman," Galadriel told her soothingly, as if to a small elfling. "We do not doubt Thranduil's position in relation to the Enemy. However, to think of all possibilities in a situation such as this is crucial so that we may choose the right step."

"You are correct," Amorith sniffed, and Haldir marveled at how she changed moods so quickly. "I was being silly; it has been a long few nights."

Galadriel nodded, her look penetrating deep into Amorith. Celeborn rose too now, and Haldir knew the council was over.

"We will read over the reports again, Haldir. Amorith, thank you for attending. Haldir, please escort her to her talan. Have a safe night," Celeborn said, hands raised in closure.

Galadriel and Amorith were both staring at each other, but Haldir noted that they appeared to be staring beyond the other's face, as if able to see things deeper and more impenetrable. It took a few moments to rouse Amorith.

"Ah Haldir, try to rest," Galadriel said, her back to him.

"_Le hannon_ (I thank thee)," said the Marchwarden, leading Amorith out of the court area.

They both walked on in silence, Amorith still oblivious to her surroundings. Her eyes held the same distant staring look, and Haldir knew there was no bringing her back. He stopped abruptly before her talan, and she seemed to come around.

"I appreciate the kind escort, Haldir," she smiled, with a slight curtsy.

"Vanimë, tell me, what do you and the Lady See?" he asked impulsively.

And again the image of the Noldo princess appeared before him as Amorith faded away, a light delicate lady, whose eyes held a look of deep sadness. This time, however, she spoke Sindarin without her native tongue heavily accentuating her speech.

"I do not See as the Lady does, Haldir. The Valar have bestowed a gift upon her that I do not share," the Eldar said. "I only See with my heart."

"What do you See about us?" Haldir whispered.

Vanimë turned her gray eyes upon him, running her fingers across his cheek smoothly.

"The path before us is uncertain, filled with fog," she said.

"What do you See?" Haldir asked again, firmly this time.

Vanimë hesitated slightly before replying, "Much pain, and anger—and uncertainty. There are some secrets that remain hidden still."

She spoke the last few words pointedly, and her hand withdrew from his face. Within the blink of an eye Amorith appeared before him again. She paused at her talan's entrance.

"You should rest, my Captain. I sense dark trouble in the coming days," she said.

Haldir nodded, bade her a good night, then disappeared down the pathway towards his talan. It was not his alone, but shared with his two brothers. Their talan was larger than most, given that each brother cherished spacious quarters. Even though, Haldir felt at times the talan's walls were closing in upon him, suffocating him. He preferred the open expanse of the forest, the freedom of taking to the trees. Before the arrival of his Lord and Lady, he had heard that the Silvans of the Golden Wood had lived more freely, in a manner more alike to the ways of their kin in Mirkwood. He did not begrudge his way of life, but sometimes he found himself wishing for a certain touch of looseness. Pushing aside his thoughts, he took a deep breath and stepped into his talan, arranging his features into a plausibly pleasant smile. Wafting towards him on the night air was the smell of the evening meal, and his stomach gurgled in response. Haldir removed his boots, and made his way lightly to the dining section of the talan. His brothers were seated around a low table, cross-legged, enjoying the food. Various dishes and bowls were laid out, and a pitcher of wine lay in the center. They both looked up as he entered, nodding their greetings to him, busy eating and drinking. Haldir nodded in return and took his usual place at the table. Orophin pushed the pitcher of wine and a glass towards him, while Rúmil filled his elder brother's plate with meat and potatoes. Haldir tore a chunk of bread for himself from the loaf in the wicker basket.

"Thank you," Haldir said to his brothers.

"How was the council?" Orophin asked between bites of bread.

"I gave my assessment report to Lord Celeborn. It will be reviewed at a later time."

Rúmil rolled his eyes.

"Asking you a question, then expecting an answer, is like stripping a tree leaf by leaf—slow, painful, and tedious. Sometimes I would rather shoot my own foot with my bow," he said.

Orophin laughed abruptly mid swallow, spraying a fine mist of wine on Haldir, who in turn aimed a blow at the perpetrator Rúmil. But Rúmil was ready, having tucked himself into the fetal position and rolled to the opposite side. All three brothers shared a hearty laugh.

"How was Amorith?" Orophin asked.

"The same as ever," Haldir replied.

The remainder of the meal was spent in silence on the Captain's behalf, listening to his two brothers discussing light-hearted topics. Once finished, Haldir drained the remainder of his wine from the glass and pushed back his plate. All three marchwardens bowed their heads in a quick prayer of thanks. Then he rose slowly from the table, loosening his belt as he went. His hair he had already removed from its plaits, which hung loosely around his shoulders now. After a brief washing, Haldir eased himself into his bed, body aching but mind still alert. His thoughts went back to the past few days, and the matter of the Orcs of Dol Guldur worried him. Yet Amorith troubled him further, and he felt a little pang of guilt for being slightly more worried about her than the fate of his homeland. Here he was again, obsessing about a maiden—though in this case Amorith was a Lady in every sense of the word—at a time of trials and difficulty. What irony was his life?

He could not understand her. Just when he would assume she had stabilized, she was already gone on another whirlwind journey, leaving him standing alone in the dust, with nothing but the whistling wind to comfort him. Her moods changed much faster than the passing seasons, as did earlier today in the council with his Lord and Lady. She was volatile, and he loved the fierceness about her. Yet underneath her staunch countenance, Haldir detected a self loathing that bordered on hatred. There were deeper chasms within her soul that he was afraid to uncover, which she tried to hide from herself. Even with all this potential negativity, she had a softer brighter side which he cherished. He suspected it came only when she felt at total ease, a state which Vanimë had not experienced in awhile, and why Amorith dominated most of the time. Through the memory she had shared with him, she had shown him her true nature: one of grace, love, and kindness. It laid forgotten, buried deep within the recesses of her soul, and he was unsure of being able to unearth it. She was unlike any other woman he had met, a different species apart from his maiden, but he loved her as fiercely, if not more. And he had promised her his heart, if only she would take it, if only he was strong enough for her.

…

Inside, Amorith removed her finery and sank into a chair, head in her hands. She was having a hard time managing herself. Vanimë was begging to be released, but Amorith could not allow that. To do so now would leave her helpless—already the few instances she had lost control of herself proved to be disastrous. She felt suddenly weary of everything; her eyes drooped uncontrollably. Amorith found herself falling into a dream, a dream that seemed real. She was standing in Caras Galadhon, and all around her was darkness. A great foreboding sense of dark evil fell over her, so that she unsheathed her sword and held it out before her as she cautiously made her way towards the only light source she could see. She could hear movement all around her, and a chill ran up and down her spine. Great many creatures were moving with her, towards the light. And suddenly she felt afraid, afraid for the light. It was the last light in this vast darkness, and it was vulnerable, vulnerable to this evil that was slowly moving towards it. Her breath caught in her throat as she sped over the mallorn leaves, she had to reach the light before it was consumed. The darkness began seeping into her bones as she reached the light, and she shivered.

The first attack came stealthily, testing her ability. Amorith countered until she felt she would drop, and the darkness receded. She sat exhausted, when the second assault came, draining her energy even more, but once more she was victorious. But she knew she was not victorious, for she could feel the darkness gathering again, preparing for an even heavier assault. She raised herself onto her knees, prepared to meet her doom. And suddenly, the light was gone, and Amorith grieved—she had failed. Darkness had stolen over the land; the Enemy had won. And beneath her she saw the bodies of many Elves, and the visions of Alqualondë loomed before her. Caranthir stood before her, holding a Silmar, laughing maniacally. Forfirith beckoned her from Fangorn. Amorith sank to her knees, weeping, and found herself in a wood of beech. Thranduil loomed before her, his eyes like blue steel.

"You failed even to protect your kinswoman's last Noldorin stand," he said harshly.

She turned towards Lórien, screaming. Thranduil placed a firm hand on her shoulders.

"Truly, you Noldor are forsaken by the Valar."

Even as she felt his sword penetrating her gut, she saw the light of Lórien return anew, and she knew that all was saved. She succumbed herself at last to the eternal peace—

"Your words to Haldir were true, for you truly do See with your heart, Vanimë."

Caranthir's eldest daughter arose to find herself by the pool with the Mirror, Galadriel standing before her, speaking with her mind.

"You See what I See as well," Vanimë said in Quenyan, as was their habit.

Galadriel stirred slightly.

"And more," she added.

"Of which I care not to know."

Galadriel narrowed her eyes.

"I cannot hold out much longer. War is on our borders, but that does not frighten me. The old war looms ahead, and I know I cannot resist its call. I will have to face my fear."

Vanimë spoke aloud, for no one came to this spot, except the two kinswomen.

"Then you will fulfill your vow to Haldir," Galadriel said, aloud as well.

Vanimë did not seem surprised, for nothing escaped the Lady.

"What does a Marchwarden have to do with the troubles of the Elder Days?" Amorith was speaking now, in Sindarin, her face defiant. "How can he possibly understand my turmoil? These Silvan Elves are so naïve it sickens me. They long for Valinor, yet what have they done to earn it? My pains are enough for centuries."

Galadriel stared ahead, her arms waving downward, as if to control the outburst.

"When all you know of it is a mere legend that is pain enough. And these Silvans suffer their own wounds as well. Not all is well with the Silvans and Sindarins either," Galadriel spoke in Sindarin, to Vanimë's surprise. "Do not judge them unless you live their life."

Amorith was silenced, and Vanimë spoke.

"Haldir is pure of heart, but he should not immerse himself in my feud. All that he may receive is an empty bitter shell in the end," she said, Quenyan again.

"Perhaps that is all you may think, but even a wilted flower can be nourished back to health and bloom again, even more beautiful," Galadriel replied steadily.

Vanimë sunk her head.

"The Golden Wood is not safe. You must stay hidden and well protected," Amorith said.

Galadriel smiled graciously.

"And what of Vanimë?" the Lady asked.

Amorith lifted her head, gray eyes determined:

"She will know when to appear."

Galadriel moved to Amorith, and she waved her hand in front of her, and Vanimë stood there, smiling at the Lady. They stood for a few moments silently facing each other.

"I accept this task freely," Vanimë said at last.

"You have asked for redemption, perhaps this is your path to receive it," Galadriel said. "You will know when to start. No one must know of your mission. Trust your heart."

"How shall you explain my absence?"

"The opportunity will present itself and you must seize it."

Vanimë nodded once. Amorith looked around her sadly, as if in a silent farewell.

"I do love this place dearly," she sighed.

"Should you return, all will not be the same, you must prepare yourself," Galadriel said, turning to leave. "And be careful, for everything has a heart in this world, even Lórien."

Amorith opened her mouth to ask what the Lady meant, but she found herself back in her talan. Outside, the night went on, but the air was heavy with mystery and grief.


	15. The Sparring

DISCLAIMER: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien; the rest is my creation, as always.

**The Sparring**

The following morning dawned on the Golden Wood with a veil of steaming fog. The Galadhrim Elves proceeded cautiously through the Wood, unsure of the world. No one dared to venture alone; rather, groups of Elves could be seen traveling together, lightly armed. There was a strange tension in the air that threatened to suffocate anyone who dared to be foolish enough not to take precautionary actions. The Lord and Lady were rumored to have ordered enhanced protection of the borders, and runners were seen hurrying to and fro, grim expressions on their fair faces. Sentries were positioned secretly within Lórien so as not to alarm the inhabitants excessively. Yet they were aware of the danger innately.

Only one dared to walk alone through the fog and defied all the seriousness; and the people looked fearfully and hurried away. There was a mark of death, they all said. Anyone who dared to be blatantly foolish was a terrible omen to their self.

Haldir was overseeing the preparations for the Marchwardens. There was a voluntary sparring competition, and participants were required to conceal their identities. They were divided into units of four, then into pairs, with the winner of each pair pitted against one another to determine the ultimate champion. The champions of each unit faced off against each other, and the ultimate victor would face Haldir. It was a clever method, Haldir told himself, on preparing his wardens for what lay ahead without telling them so. Only his brothers, Orophin and Rúmil, knew the true reason, yet they participated so no suspicion would be drawn from any warden. Haldir made his way to the clearing where the competition was being held. The two champions who were currently dueling were locked in a fierce battle, while the gathered audience of defeated wardens compared stories with each other. Rúmil caught sight of his brother and hobbled over to his side.

"Difficult spar?" the Captain asked, eliciting a nod.

"Whoever he is, he is perhaps the best we have," Rúmil stated. "I tried getting Amorith to join but she said she was busy." he added, then nudged his head in the direction of the current sparring. "That warden is surely a seasoned warrior, I was defeated easily."

Haldir patted his back quickly.

"I am sure you did well," he reassured.

Just then, the audience grew tenacious. One of the duelers, which Haldir judged to be the apparent champion from the way the audience hissed, had lost his sword. The second dueler appeared to be at an apparent victory as the first rushed to recover his weapon, only to find himself at the point of two swords. The first dueler had managed to stealthily retrieve his fallen weapon and pulled a second, which was cleverly concealed. There was a unanimous resounding groan from the audience as the second dueler accepted defeat. The two quickly bowed, and as they did so, Haldir recognized his brother Orophin as the defeated one. He felt a slight pang of anger as Orophin hobbled over to join his brothers.

"Whoever he is, he is the best we have," Orophin said, his face not at all hiding the frustration. "Every time I felt at a point of control, he would counter me. His style is totally unpredictable, and his attacks are not known to me. Not even Elessar fought in this method."

Rúmil embraced his brother.

"That is why we have Haldir, to defeat the strong ones," he jested. "At times our eldest brother can be useful to us."

Haldir glanced sternly at his siblings.

"What if you find yourselves in a situation without me? Will you ask your enemy to politely wait for me to come and save you?" he said.

"That is an idea!" Rúmil replied.

Haldir shook his head. The champion was standing motionless in the middle of the clearing, staring straight at the Marchwarden. Haldir removed his bow and quiver and flexed briefly, attempting to recognize any distinguishable feature of the warden. The audience let out a loud cry as the Captain stepped into the clearing, only feet away from the champion. They stared at each other silently before quickly bowing. Then the sparring began. At first Haldir gave light blows, testing the strength of his adversary. Each of his blows was met with slightly more strength, and Haldir knew this was the way in which his dueler was communicating that he understood his intentions. Then Haldir feigned several missed blocks, and the dueler appeared to have fallen for the trap, except that by the fourth feign he had caught onto the trick. The Captain then advanced aggressively, swinging with all his might, and the dueler reacted fluidly, anticipating each move expertly and blocking them all effectively.

Haldir stopped for a few moments to catch his breath, and was surprised that his dueler appeared not at all exhausted. The Captain was furious. He was the best dueler in Lothlórien; no one had ever beaten him. The crowd had dispersed, ultimately tired of watching the champion, and perceiving that the spar between him and the Captain would be extended. Haldir was crushed; he wanted everyone to be present when he defeated this warden and exposed his identity, not only to prove his superiority, but also to proclaim the champion's excellence. His remarkable fighting abilities were to be recognized by all, only after Haldir defeated him. So he tried a new tack.

"You are a remarkable warrior," he began causally.

No response.

Haldir was curious at this point. This was no ordinary warden; he had received extensive combat training. He knew all of the deceptive techniques to throw off opponents. His attack style was not predictable just as Orophin had informed him, and every single move was precisely calculated before execution. Haldir felt as if his own moves were already known to his opponent, as if he had been studied for awhile. There were too many unknown variables, and it frustrated Haldir.

"What are you!" he shouted in fury, now driven by a mad impulse.

Haldir's attacks became ferocious and with each blow he applied more and more of his strength. At first his opponent skillfully blocked his every move, but after awhile his blocks became weaker, until he was reduced to simple defense. Haldir was beginning to feel his energy depleted from his rapid blows, and in a last futilely desperate attempt he managed to corner his opponent to a tree, breathing heavily as his eyes narrowed. Haldir brought his sword up to his opponent's face, and with one skillful flick, swiped the veil off his face.

"Congratulations, Captain."

Amorith stared complacently at him. Her face was devoid of emotion; only her eyes betrayed her. Her apparent calmness drove Haldir's fury further.

"How dare you!" he seethed.

"I fail to understand you, Captain. It was voluntary—"

Haldir grabbed her wrists and wrenched the sword from her grasp. She winced in pain slightly as he raised her arms above her head roughly.

"I could have you dead right here, no one would know," he breathed. "No one."

Amorith looked at him coldly.

"What do you want from me, Haldir? Are you angered that I was able to defeat all your wardens and your brothers? I can defeat you easily! I was trained by Beleg; I have more deceptions than you know of. I did not need to read your mind to know your next move. It must be terrible to have a Lady defeat—"

But she got no further. Haldir had placed his mouth over hers and was aggressively kissing her. With her arms rendered above her head, she was helpless to his actions. She succumbed to uselessly struggling.

"Be still my sweet, I only want you. It pleases me to know that you can handle yourself in battle, Vanimë," he said, and the Noldo princess closed her eyes against her tears, "yet I do not wish for you to be gone from me."

"I am not yours, so you cannot lose me," she said shakily.

Haldir pushed himself against her and dropped her arms. With lightning speed he undid her blouse fastenings, leaving only the last few intact, so that he could only see the top of her heaving breasts.

"Most men think that to claim a woman theirs, they must violate her against her will. I am more than capable of that, though rather unwillingly. You may be fierce, but I will dominate you by my sheer strength alone. Your mind is your greatest strength, but my strength is brutal force. That is the only way I was able to defeat you," he whispered, running his fingers down her cleavage.

Vanimë stared at him, frozen and afraid. His touch was sensual, yet it frightened her that he was exposing her primal fear in such a manner. His method was shrewd, and it haunted her to realize that she would always be wanted and desired by men, and that she would never again be with the one she truly desired.

"Men always sing me pretty lies," she said, trying to ignore the callings of her body and her mind. "How will I know you are not different?"

Haldir released his hold on her.

"You are free to leave," he replied curtly, as if dispersing a council meeting.

She stood silently against the tree, her blouse exposing her bodily ornaments, her mind racing between Amorith and Vanimë. And then she understood.

"You set this up. You knew!" she cried. "You wish me to choose myself!"

"Everything has a heart in this world, even Lórien," he told her. "You are to be sent to Mirkwood, by order of the Lord and Lady. We cannot delay any longer."

"Was this the manner in which the message was to be delivered?" she asked.

Haldir smiled secretly.

"My orders from the Lady were to deliver the message, the method was entirely up to me," he answered. "The Lady believes that Amorith or Vanimë must die; they cannot both coexist. The Orcs are approaching as we speak, you must go."

Amorith solidified, and then was briefly replaced by a pale Vanimë.

"Your destiny lies with who you choose to be. Amorith or Vanimë, not both. Simply one or the other. You shall proceed to Mirkwood and present yourself to Thranduil. And you will stay there until requested," Haldir said in his usual dry manner.

Vanimë appeared, her head hanging low, her voice imploring.

"I cannot leave the Golden Wood and Galadriel," she said.

"My orders were to deliver the message. The Lady has spoken," Haldir said.

He turned around without further comment and walked off into the fog, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She immediately fastened her blouse, hands shaking slightly. Haldir's words rang through her mind as she picked her way through the Wood. She was furious at Galadriel for not telling her anything.

_"The opportunity will present itself and you must seize it."_

The Lady's words were a warning, if only she had heeded them. Yet Galadriel only spoke circularly, so it was difficult to decipher any meaning. Only one thing was clear to Amorith, for the succession of her mission she had to choose her destiny, and her destiny was to discover her true self. The time had come for her to stop shielding herself. Vanimë prayed for the strength to do so.

…

Haldir emerged from the Council chamber somberly. The reports he had received of the battle between his wardens and the Orcs was not pleasing. He had dispatched a new legion to join the fighting, the same legion who had been sparring earlier today. They were elitists, and Haldir believed in them faithfully. His two brothers were sent off, and he prayed for their safety. The trio of brothers was the only family they had left for each other. Haldir arrived at his talan in a fey mood. He was weary, both mentally and physically. He drew the curtains so that a gray light fell everywhere, reflecting his emotions. Haldir stood at the door to his sleeping chamber, sighing deeply. A soft voice from the shadows startled him out of his reverie.

"A rare sight to see the softer side of the great Captain."

Haldir peered towards the sound of the voice, which he did not recognize. It would not be the first time his brothers tried coercing a maiden into relieving some of his worries. He turned his back towards the direction of the voice.

"I do not know what my brothers have promised you, but I cannot offer you anything. You are to leave immediately," he said.

"Oh, but you are gravely mistaken Captain on all accounts," the voice said.

"Do not test my patience. I will have you thrown out."

The silence that ensued made him uneasy. He dared not to confirm his fears.

"A Lady is not thrown out unceremoniously."

With a speed unknown to him, Haldir found himself ahold of the source of the voice. It was a woman, though maiden or lady he could not tell for sure. Her age seemed limitless yet simultaneously older. Her eyes were sea-gray and she shone with a light from within that he could not explain. Her features were soft, yet there was defiance in her manner. Her brown hair fell in a shower of curls down her back. She was not as slim as most of the maidens tended to be; her hips were shapely yet adequate, and her small breasts were full. She was wearing a translucent tunic, and she looked at him curiously.

"Amorith?" Haldir dared to question.

She did not answer him, but drew a dagger from beneath her tunic and pointed it at him casually.

"I have a score yet to be settled," she said, eyes ablaze.

Haldir laughed, yet she fastened her hold on the dagger.

"What of my revenge? A Lady must take revenge," she said.

Haldir lashed out with his legs and knocked her off her feet. He caught her inches before she hit the floor and raised her to her feet. Her weapon clattered to the floor behind her, and Haldir kicked it away from them into a corner.

"And what sweet revenge is this…" he whispered."This I cannot defend from."

"I have come to bid farewell," she said as he lifted her onto the bed.

"Who has come to bid me farewell?"

"I have."

Haldir made to remove her tunic, but she blocked him firmly.

"A true warrior takes complete control of himself," she said.

Haldir was in agony. She was this close to him, he could feel her every fiber beneath him. She played upon this cruelly, flaunting herself perfectly. He extended his arm again, but she grasped it firmly, and her eyes flashed gray.

"Most men think that to claim a woman theirs, they must violate her against her will. You are more than capable of that, though rather unwillingly," she said. "My destiny is to choose who I am. Yours is to regain control. This is what I have Seen. Our path was indeed filled with fog, as I have told you, and there is still much more to come before the end is near."

He could see the tears glistening in her eyes as she struggled between herself to tell him her truth. Haldir watched as she took one of his hands in hers and placed it on her breast, over her heart. She held it there for awhile.

"In here there is a battle, a battle for you, and a battle for Thranduil," she explained. "In here," and with her other hand she pointed to her head, "there is a battle for Amorith, and another for Vanimë."

She removed his hand from her body suddenly and pointed around her wildly, her soft voice rising heatedly.

"And out there, I battle for Mirkwood, for the Golden Wood, for the very survival of Middle-earth against Sauron! I am unable to desert my battles any longer. The spar we had only proves to me the necessity of my own course, the need to settle ancient wounds. And with this I bid you a fond farewell."

Amorith removed herself from Haldir's hold and went to the corner where she had placed her traveling attire. As she reached down for her tunic, she felt Haldir's arms around her waist. Vanimë's relaxed body stiffened slightly.

"I must go," she said softly, tugging away. "You cannot stop me."

Haldir released her with a sigh. She hastily dressed then turned to face him, her expression one of intense fortitude and complacency.

"With your blessings Captain, I must be on my way. The journey will be hard and long, and full of many perils," Amorith said, softening into Vanimë.

Haldir nodded curtly, suddenly feeling detached.

"May the Valar protect you, Vanimë," he said. "Journey forth carefully."

The Noldo princess left Haldir's talan silently. She paused only momentarily at the threshold and seemed hesitant. Haldir wished at that moment that she would turn and run into his embrace, that she would abandon her mission. He saw her turn sideways and caught the ghost of her smile before she vanished into the night. As he listened to her soft retreating foot falls, he felt her voice penetrate his mind: "To abandon my mission is to abandon myself. Please guard the Lady well. Assure her safety as you would assure mine."

Amorith made sure to tread in the deepest shadows. Her departure had to be evasive of all watchful eyes and ears. She kept to the topmost secret tree branch pathways of the Marchwardens. Her training from Beleg ensured her footsteps to be unheard and unnoticed by even the keenest Elf. She focused all her attention on her journey and the mission that lay ahead of her. Perhaps the fate of all the Elves lay in her hands now. Melancholy, she thought of how her kin held the fate of the world in their fight over the Silmarilli.

"What was begun by the Noldo may end by the Noldo," she remarked to herself.

Then her thoughts turned to her sister, Forfirith, and a deep pang of guilt and hurt seeped into her soul. Vanimë stopped suddenly in her tracks.

"Sister, if you hear me now…pray for my redemption," she said into her mind.

A penetrating cold filled the world. Vanimë could sense much evil and malice abroad, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her, unconsciously closing her fingers over her sword's hilt. She did not know what fate had in store for her, but for once in her life, Vanimë was ready to fight for her very survival. She was not on a mission like that of the Ring-bearer to save the world. She was not on a mission for glory. Amorith was on a mission of self fulfillment. In the days to come, she would have to face herself stripped. She would travel to the place of her death to reawaken herself and save her soul, or perish if she failed. With this realization, Vanimë braced herself, and Amorith bore on ever steely.


	16. Mirkwood's Shadows

Disclaimer and note: I own nothing of this save my own creations; anything recognizable is Tolkien's property. Italicized writing is Amorith's narration.

**Mirkwood's Shadows**

_No one knows what is to happen. No one will ever predict._

_Vanimë rose from her position, her mind's words reverberating harshly in the night; Olwen and Arquen felt her gray eyes penetrating into them. She gave such an intense stare that the pair felt as though they were standing before her in her presence. Her gaze lingered the most on her mother, to whom she gave a sad smile. Olwen sighed heavily; her daughter was so close yet so far._

_The Sindar have a saying: the one who remains silent is the one to be feared._

_The Noldor have a saying: it is not the stab that hurts, but the familiar hand that did the deed._

_Do you truly desire what you have; do you truly have what you desire? Many things are hidden in plain sight for you to take, if only you knew. You are closer than you imagine…_

She reached out her white pale hands towards them, beckoning them forward. Both Olwen and Arquen shrunk back towards the shadows at the sight of the frightful apparition before them beckoning. Vanimë paused, not a muscle twitching in her body. The singular readable expression was her eyes, which became stormy gray, flashing intermittently. She stood like this for a moment, while Arquen and Olwen watched wordlessly, unsure of what to do. Vanimë resumed her previous composure, and returned to her seat against the trees. She leaned her dark head back, closing her eyes; Arquen and Olwen felt themselves taken away once more.

…

Celemirë felt her anger growing each day. It had been a fortnight since Maeglan had been released with the note to Amorith. And no word yet, not even Amorith attempting to communicate to her with her mind, had reached her. Yet that might be because of the magic of Thranduil's halls; it was well known his palace gates admitted only those he wanted. She wondered how much this power extended. Could it broaden to the boundaries of the more spiritual, transcendental elements as well? She had never pondered the mystery of the gates of the King before. Indeed her thoughts had never penetrated anything deeper than the composure of a new ballad, but of late she found herself trying to expand her mental horizons.

"But Amorith is Noldo; her magic and powers are much stronger and more powerful! Surely she would be able to reach out to me!" she said exasperatedly, slamming her fists on the table.

Her dinner stood nearby, already cold after having sat untouched for several hours. The gravy from the meat was already congealed; the mere sight of it made her insides convulse. A sudden fit of anger overcame her, and with one sweep of her hand, she sent the bowl clattering against the wall, its contents spewing all over the floor and halfway down the wall. An overwhelming urge to scream overcame her. She clasped both hands over her mouth to stifle herself.

"Celemirë, pray tell what is happening?"

The door opened sharply, and the maiden looked up to see a dark haired man standing on the threshold. She let out a shriek, throwing herself into his arms, screaming:

"Where have you been? I have been waiting!"

The next moment Celemirë remembered was waking up, surrounded by anxious faces. She felt thoroughly exhausted, as if one thousand knives had been driven into her. Her entire body felt heavy; even moving her fingers took much effort.

"I am so tired…" she said.

A healer stood above her, smiling kindly down upon the maiden.

"Many thanks to the Valar that you are well, Celemirë. If you had not been brought to me I shudder to think what could have happened to both of you," she said.

Celemirë listened as if through a haze, each word painfully registering in her mind into something comprehendible. She raised herself onto her elbows, groggy and lightheaded.

"Who found me?" the singer asked.

"Numbor," replied the healer. "He saved both of your lives."

Celemirë shook her head, "Sorry, I know I am unwell at the moment, but pray tell me what you mean by "both of your lives"? The first time I thought you misspoke, or I misheard."

The healer smiled ever gently.

"You carry a child within you, Celemirë," she said softly.

There was an abrupt cough, and from behind the healer's figure Celemirë recognized King Thranduil. Her rage returned, and as she rose, sharp pains from her abdomen sent her reeling backwards into the bed, grasping her stomach sharply.

"Celemirë, you must stop. The child senses your anger," the healer said, coming to her side.

Thranduil advanced forward, attempting to hide the concern on his face.

"Stay away from me! You are the cause of this, all my turmoil!" she shrieked, biting her lip as the pain in her abdomen rose again.

The King stopped short, watching the healer rush to Celemirë's side to help calm her. She called for her assistant, who came silently forward bearing a bowl of a steaming liquid. Thranduil watched as she cradled the maiden's head in her arms, while spooning mouthfuls of the broth, whispering to her calmly. His mind went back to another instance, much alike this instance now, when Celemirë was much younger, in need of care, in the strong arms of Amorith…

It was springtime, the world awakening from its frozen slumber, yet not completely thawed out. Snow still clung desperately to the oak trees, yet it did not hinder the people gathering the syrup from the maple trees. The maples were sparse, but they were coveted by the people, especially for their King. He was fond of his desserts, as was the Prince. And the lady Amorith could at times be coerced into baking a cake using the syrup for the sweetener. She decided to join the syrup gatherers that year, and special permission had been given to the little Prince to accompany her. So thrilled was he, skipping through the halls, announcing his privilege, looking for his friend Celemirë to boast to her. But she was hiding, having heard the news, and herself requested to join Amorith only to be turned away on account of a slight cold she had taken earlier. So it was that Legolas did not find her, and given up, rushed to find Amorith to join her. The little band of syrup gatherers made its way to the trees, attaching the small tubes to the holes in the trunks, then checking that there were no leaks. It was somewhat tedious, but Legolas took everything in with that delight of small children. After securing the lines, the syrup travelled downhill into a large steel vat, heated underneath by a fire, where the water was boiled out, and the syrup was drained. Legolas was rewarded with a small cup of the fresh hot syrup, and Amorith showed him how to solidify it by tossing it onto a patch of clean snow. That was when she noticed Celemirë, who had snuck out, standing in the snow, wearing nothing but her rest-robes, shivering violently, her skin turning a slightly bluish color. The Noldo rushed the elfling to the palace directly into the healing chambers, cocooning her in warmed blankets, spooning her broth from a bowl, soothing the crying child…

"My lord…" the healer said, gently shaking his arm.

"What is it?" he said, slightly annoyed at being disturbed from his reverie. Where was peace?

"Many congratulations…" she said.

"Ah, to the father indeed…" he replied critically.

The healer was silent. "Then this child is not yours…"

Thranduil turned to her, a grim expression on his face.

"I do not wish any knowledge of this to spread to anyone; I want you to care for her. Take care that no one else sees her. Keep her comfortable and at ease; if you require anything send your assistant," he said, and in his heart he shed tears for the maiden.

"Very well my lord," the healer replied, watching him leave.

She turned to Celemirë, stroking the now sleeping maiden.

"I shall take great care of you my dear. I owe this much to you," she said.

Thranduil, meanwhile, made his way hurriedly down the halls, his mind ablaze with thoughts. He knew the child was not his. He knew Celemirë was not foolish; the sire was someone she trusted, someone she respected. He felt a sense of protection over her, of looking after her. He knew he had been wrong towards her of late, and hoped she would appreciate this favor and forgive him. The healer would take good care of her, that much he knew. And she would stay protected from prying eyes there; his added guards would see to that. The only thing that remained was the matter of the identity of the child's sire.

What did it matter truly…?

Yet a part of him was yearning to know.

"I will learn his identity…" he vowed to himself.

Safe within the confines of his own chambers, Thranduil slumped wearily onto his bed, head aching with a pounding he did not know from where it came. His heart yearned for many things: the safety of his son, eternal peace for his people…the end of the Shadow and all the evil in the world. His mind reeled with many thoughts, memories, decisions, regrets…longings. Absentmindedly he traced the ring Legolas' mother gave to him on their wedding night, and for a few moments he reveled on those happy moments with her. Where had the time gone? Even to the Elves time was a fleeting thing. It was as if only a minute ago Legolas was a newborn elfling, and now he was wandering Middle-earth, one of the Nine Walkers. It was not as if Thranduil spent as much time with his son as he should have, and ruefully did the King regret this now. Yet Legolas turned out to be a fine Prince, a beloved leader of his people…

"Amorith instilled this in me, father. Without her I would be nothing, you will be nothing."

Thranduil closed his eyes in bitter memory of those words, spoken to him in a whisper, on the eve of Amorith's dismissal from the kingdom. Never would the Elven-King forget how his son, his own flesh and blood, refused to forgive him for banishing Amorith. He was no longer a small impish elfling, clinging to Amorith's skirts for protection, but neither was he fully matured; rather he was caught in the delicate middle intermediate age, where emotions and the yearnings of the heart held greater sway over rational thoughts and logic. Legolas had developed a keen sense of perception and intuition even from a young age, and Thranduil did not doubt that Amorith had shared her story with his son long before she decided to inform him. The King recalled how Legolas guarded her, refusing to leave her shadow, thinking then that the Prince had not shed his habit as a newborn, but knowing now that he shared in Amorith's secret. How had his young son been able to see what he did not, or had Thranduil been too afraid to ask the question that troubled him? How Legolas ran into the night, caring not for his own life, his only wish to return with Amorith. Yet he was blinded, for Amorith, in her rage, extinguished all light from the already darkened Mirkwood, leaving Legolas to weep bitter tears, lamenting quietly. When dawn finally broke, the Silvan Elves gathered fearfully at the palace gates, awaiting the return of their Prince. A great mist veiled the edge of the trees beyond the gates, until at last the form of Legolas emerged. He appeared more solemn in spirit than even his father, and he kept his gaze focused only on his King. Thranduil watched with a dead face as his son turned to face the gathered crowd.

"Remember this day as the day we have lost all that was beautiful and good, the shield that held back the most aggressive force of Dol Guldur. Amorith has been sent away foolishly, sent away because your King did not have the strength to overlook the Elder Days. Our great Wood will once again be covered with Shadow, and I fear it will be much graver this time, perhaps to remain forever. Do not believe the lies that are being told, that Amorith came to rob us. You have seen for yourself her beauty, her truth, her love for us all. We must honor her by remembering her kindness, her love to us. Our kingdom knew much peace and Light with her, and now it is gone because she is gone, because your King," and here Legolas pointed directly at his father, sapphire eyes ablaze, "succumbed to the malice of the Shadow."

Thranduil attempted to stop the next memory, but it came nonetheless. He let out an anguished angry cry as he remembered visibly rushing down the stone steps, arm raised to strike. But Legolas was ready. In one swift move he withdrew his bow, arrow ready—and he was not alone, Innas' bow was arched as well. The crowd froze, the very air was still, as the tension mounted unbearably. The King was torn between his rage and shock. Rage at Amorith's unveiling, at his son's willingness to return her, at his own internal warnings that he had long ignored, being too blinded by the feigned love of Amorith and her beauty. She had played her role well, joining him in battles even. But her pride was her downfall, as it was the undoing of her kin. Yet the shock of the events was still too fresh in his mind and his soul, that he had lost his one true love. He had never really loved Legolas' mother as deeply as he had loved Amorith. She had been a more political and tactical marriage, more for stability of his kingdom than for his own personal stability and bliss. It was not that he did not love her at all, for he did love her in some form, and she had given him his Legolas, but it was not with the intensity and fire as his love for Amorith was. He recalled with some shame how he had longed for Amorith as he had made love to her for the first time, closing his eyes, and seeing his true lady behind his lids. Shock also that Legolas dared to defy him publicly and that Innas joined him too. Innas, the son of his most respected advisor, stood shoulder to shoulder with his son, their bows pointed at him, their blue and green eyes respectively as cold as the metal on their arrow tips.

"You do not frighten me, sire. I will follow my own path now. If any harm comes to any single one of our people, I hold you accountable irrevocably. If you attempt to intercede in my affairs, I will disappear as Amorith has been forced," Legolas said, his words as cold as ice. Turning to the crowd, he added, "If any of you has a grievance with my father, I shall be the one you settle with."

And from that instant on, Legolas seemed to Thranduil no more present than Amorith. He would catch sight of him occasionally, but when their eyes met Legolas always turned away. Eventually Legolas would disappear for years at a time from the palace, until the silence between them was a visible wall. Only when Legolas rode off for Elrond's Council did Thranduil speak to him, the first time in centuries.

"I bid you fare well, and bid you to forgive me."

Sitting now on the edge of the bed, Thranduil could feel a sense of anger resonating about him, and he realized that somehow Legolas knew of Celemirë. The Elven-King sank to one knee, raising his golden head to the sky, willing all his strength to steel himself against the onslaught of weakness that now stole throughout him. His kingdom and people were in danger, and they needed him. He was King, not Legolas, not Innas, not even Amorith, but him, Thranduil, son of Oropher.

"Too long have I let my mind steep in thoughts and dreams, but dreams are for fools. Thoughts are for courtiers who lack the stomach to make actions from their words. No one is King save me, and it is high time the people returned to the King's word. Tomorrow shall dawn a new era for Mirkwood," Thranduil vowed, rising slowly to his feet. "We have slept on in continuous Shadow, but no more."

…

_You may wonder by now how it is I have come to learn the most intimate thoughts of those people I had direct dealings with, and those whom I treasured at one point or another in my life. Most of the details I obtained, not as you might assume by my reading their thoughts, but from the people themselves. Whether by my conversing with them or from letters—the former being the more prevalent method—I came to know many things that happened in my absence from Mirkwood during those most turbulent times. My ability to read minds is not as refined as Lady Galadriel; I must have a truly strong connection with the person in question to be able to see their thoughts across great expanses. Some of the memories I relay now were obtained after I was given permission to pry into a mind when the body was resting, when the mind is more easily penetrated. Even my own thoughts that I have relayed thus far, these have been revisited at a much later point, when I gained a more wholesome perspective about what actually occurred. It is much clearer, albeit harder to admit yourself, to understand the true nature of things after your mind and emotions have cooled._

_It takes much courage to continue onwards, once the realization is made that one has been asleep, that one has fallen into a dark abyss, and in order to obtain salvation one must overcome the impossible. Thranduil felt it then in that moment, in the realization that he had slumbered for so long, left his kingdom to decay and crumble slowly, and that no one was to blame for it except for himself. He was wary of his people's feelings, unsure of how they would respond to him. He had distanced himself from them for such a length of time that he felt they were unlikely to obey him immediately, and in this he could not blame them. His only hope was that he would find the patience to tolerate the misdeeds of his own doing. As for myself, my thought when I was leaving Caras Galadhon was to find the strength to at last acknowledge my true being and not waver in the face of Thranduil. The latter part would be the most trying for me._


	17. Stirring the Embers

DISCLAIMER: If you recognize anything, it belongs to Tolkien.

**Stirring the Embers**

Olwen held the book away from her, as if hardly daring to believe all she had witnessed. Beside her Arquen was motionless, his face devoid of all emotions and thoughts. Olwen was still in awe as to her daughter's memories displayed in such a manner; she could not help but feel as if she was somehow invading. With each emotion Vanimë felt, Olwen surged within her soul. Each tear, each scream—Olwen could not tell if these emotions came from her or the memories she disturbed. She became so consumed by the tale that she felt she was living Vanimë's life, not merely reading it, if reading could describe such a state. She placed a hand on her husband's arm; he was deep in his own thoughts.

"Arquen…" Olwen whispered.

He stirred slightly, his brows furrowing momentarily.

"What is it my dear?" he asked.

"You seem disturbed."

Arquen sighed; Olwen noticed the tension beneath the surface rise slowly. Arquen rose to his feet.

"I am very delighted that Vanië has returned because it makes you happy, which you know is all that I ever desire for you. Yet somehow I cannot help myself but wonder if this book that she bore with her is cursed, if it should have stayed there in Middle-earth. It contains such truths that should not be awakened, lest the faint hearted quell, the malice return anew. Middle-earth will always remain for me a tumultuous land. Our land is one of peace, and I am loath to see pain and destruction return once more. We have suffered long and hard for this peace; we do not need to stir any remaining embers."

Olwen listened intently, her silence encouraging him to continue.

"Their sire brought Valinor to ruins, and wherever he went he spilled his seeds of destruction. You know very well my thoughts about Caranthir and his family; I have never hid my feelings regarding them from anyone, most especially from you. I rejoiced when they left our lands, and went across the Sea to Middle-earth, for who would, with presence of mind, leave this most sacred land for one tainted with the Men, Dwarves, and the lesser Elves? The Silvans come here, and I feel as if they are lost in the First Age. Their manner of speech is not unpleasant yet it is not music to my ears. All I wish is for nothing to remind me of those most blackened days, that poisonous land called Middle-earth. Who are we to say that this book will not unleash something? Caranthir was a very gifted craftsman, perhaps…"

Olwen stood to her feet, and Arquen stopped short.

"These are the thoughts of Vanimë. You have seen thus far what turmoil she and Vanië have been through, and yet you doubt her? You believe that this is evil?" Olwen whispered. "That she is evil?"

Arquen's face tightened slightly as he stared back at his wife, alive with passion.

"I am merely suggesting that we be on our guard…"

Olwen shook her head.

"Be on our guard? You will have me mistrust my own daughters? The very daughters I abandoned? You speak strong words. I have never been strong; I ran away from my daughters." she said.

"You did no such thing; Caranthir betrayed your love to him, and betrayed our people. You had every right to stay and leave him. Your very abandonment of him is strength itself! You overcame his evil!" Arquen validated. "The curse of Caranthir and his family is the reaped reward of what they sowed."

Olwen turned to him, eyes flashing with anger.

"I had no right; I was selfish and weak. I thought only of myself; when I turned my back that fateful day I left my daughters to him. I did not care for them; I only wanted to save myself." she cried.

"You must not feel so; they are daughters of traitors. His blood courses through them!" Arquen said.

There was the sound of breaking glass and a sob. Both Olwen and Arquen rushed to the closed door and opened it to find shattered crystal strewn about the floor. Vanië stood on the threshold, clutching the remains of a mirror, only the ornate wooden handle was left. Tears were streaming down her face. Olwen could not lift her eyes to see her daughter's gaze. She had never felt such shame as she did now, not even when she had willingly turned her back on her daughters and left them to their sire. What words of comfort, of solace, could she offer now? How does a mother restore the bonds of love and trust to her daughter, after freely admitting she left them unhesitatingly to a cursed fate? She felt her husband's steely defiance in the face of Vanië's grief. She had always known that Arquen had never harbored any warm feelings for the sons of Feanor, yet to know now that he viewed even her own daughters as tainted and unworthy as their forefathers, she was devastated. She did understand why he felt this way; deep within her Olwen herself carried similar feelings—yet always the guilt of having abandoned her daughters overcame all else. She felt as if she had to choose between her husband and daughters once again, for which she did not have the courage. Slowly, she spoke:

"Some things bear too much grief and pain for me, perhaps the book should not have come. Why reopen ancient wounds? This is a time of healing now, Vanië; we must not look back, only move on."

Vanië was still, the words her mother uttered to her now seemed as cold as the ice she had crossed over many centuries ago. She felt her very core shaken, her soul cloven in two. In all her darkest dreams, her extensive brooding in Fangorn Forest over several Ages of the world, in the deep recesses of the mountains, she never even dreamed her mother would say such things as she did now. Vanië then realized that she had clung desperately to a fool's hope that the suffering she and her sister underwent would be validated by those who heard their story in Valinor. Vanimë told her countless times that it was not desperation that she clung to, but denial. For Vanië simply refused to affirm the truth that no one would understand their plight fully, all the deeds to shed any remaining traces of their heated Noldorin ancestry, without some small measure of doubt and fear. For who would dare to comprehend this? What explanation could be given for complete understanding and fair judgment? For the matter of Feanor and the Silmarils fueled the deepest passions and emotions amongst the Elves of Valinor, even after all this time had passed. Some wounds time cannot heal, for they go too deep.

The only one who understood this plight and never judged was the Lady Galadriel herself, for she had drunk of the wine that Feanor poured into the minds of those who believed in him, she had shared in the burden of being an Exile. She also had lived, not only lived, but ruled a kingdom of Silvans in Middle-earth. She followed Feanor of her own free will to Middle-earth, yet she also suffered as both Vanimë and Vanië did. Only Galadriel understood…only she would know…

Vanië came to this realization, and it filled her with a quiet resolution, dispelling all previous despair from her heart. Suddenly each moment that ever was had a new meaning, and new hidden truths emerged: none in Valinor would ever believe that the kin of Feanor had any measure of virtue; they believed that only malice, darkness, and an unnatural restlessness resided within their souls. The curse would forever hold sway over them, would forever cloud judgment. Ever will Vanimë and Vanië be watched carefully, as if at any instant they would become fell creatures of the Dark. It would be incomprehensible to the Elves of Valinor to understand the reasons for every action the sisters took, in denying their heritage, their true blood. Centuries ago, Vanimë realized that in order for them to survive, they had to choose between continuous pain as daughters of the house of Feanor, or to take on new identities, and turn away from themselves. Vanië feared the curse would come true to them, for who dared to deny one's self one's own soul? They were of the house of Feanor, their fate was doom. Yet Vanimë always kept hope, always insisted that even though they came from the house of the Cursed, even though they renounced themselves to their own souls, they would be saved.

'_If we were truly cursed, would you be in Valinor now, looking upon the fair face of our mother?'_

Vanië took courage from this thought, and though she trembled as she spoke, she felt hope renewed.

"I brought you a gift, mother. I came back to you because I love you." Vanië said. "I came back seeking redemption, seeking forgiveness, seeking pardon from the Valar."

"Daughter—" Olwen began.

But Vanië stopped her. Instead she focused her full attention on Arquen. Suddenly her voice rose sharply, her eyes became stormy gray, and a violence rose from within her. Her eyes fluttered for a few moments, and Arquen and Olwen were reminded of a very similar demeanor—Vanimë in her book.

"And you, lord of Teleri, what words do you have for your treachery? How could you even begin to understand our plight? And how easy for you to judge! How simple it is from the land of Valinor to look upon those of Middle-earth with disdain, especially the daughters of Caranthir. Your Light was stolen, but your eyes have never seen the handiwork of Sauron: taking Elves and torturing them beyond their souls into Orcs. You have seen Valinor's Light taken, and a new one was restored. We have seen our Light taken and never restored, and in vain we have spent centuries searching for a suitable replacement. Fleeing hither and thither, making for ourselves new lives, lying to our souls, in the hopes of forgetting everything. And this book that you deem Evil only touches on the surface of what we suffered. My sister particularly did not bode well. She would put your pride to shame. What have you done Arquen to truly make the Eldar endure? My sister kept the traditions of the Ancients alive; when her spirit broke time and time again she always turned to the Light and to Valinor, her true home. She will never return; but she always dwells here in her heart. You view the Silvan as lesser Elves, but I think they are far more superior—at least they do not judge as you have. In many ways you are alike to Caranthir and Feanor in your unfair judgment. The Silvan opened their hearts and homes to us, sheltered us when we had nothing. When I returned home all I received was false assurances and malice. The suspicions of the past have risen anew; instead of learning from history, rejoicing in the destruction of Evil for all time, you regress." she said.

She stopped suddenly, and a soft smile passed quickly over her face. The harshness in her voice, the hardness in her voice disappeared, and Vanië resumed her quiet self again. "Vanimë knew all along, she tried to warn me, yet I was too blind to see. But now I have—and ruefully do I regret not heeding my sister's words. Truly, my days in Fangorn Forest have clouded my vision and judgment. "

Vanië turned towards Arquen and Olwen, and it was as if a ghost passed through her momentarily.

"I thought that by returning here I would find the missing piece that has been hidden from me. I have spent my days looking in vain for the answer. With every minute I wished for the pleasure of seeing Valinor again. And now that I am here I know where I ought to be…"

Calmly, Vanië bowed to her mother and Arquen before walking out of the room and down the staircase, her quiet footsteps echoing audibly to Olwen, who called out for her daughter frantically. Arquen tried to stop her, yet Olwen was beside herself with grief and sorrow.

"Let her go…it was my fault." he told her. "She will return; she needs time to gather herself. I know not what possessed me; I think within me old remnants of the past remain, as she said. May the Valar forgive my foolishness and pardon my ill thoughts."

Olwen attempted unsuccessfully to quell her tears. Arquen stood in complete silence, his mind blank. He had known Vanië to always be the serene sister, the quiet thoughtful one, from what Olwen had told him of her daughters. Even from the little interaction he had with Vanië, that was what he had observed. The argument they had revealed a different side of her, a more sharper lady, one who was not loath to speak her mind when she felt the need to. He sensed a passion in her he did not know existed, a flame more akin to Caranthir, more akin to Vanimë…the words Vanië uttered…

Arquen froze suddenly.

"She was here…Somehow she managed to bring her spirit through here…"

Arquen looked at his wife, who stood calmly now, staring at the place where Vanië had been standing.

"It is an ancient magic, powered by their love of one another, strengthened by their bond. I should have realized sooner, but I was in shock, caught in the midst of the moment, but it was her. She was always there for her, always looking out for her, seeing that no harm would come to her, even when they were small elflings, she was the one who rose to defend her."

Arquen felt the very breath leave him. "That was… Vanimë?"

Olwen nodded, now smiling to herself, her eyes closed.

"Yes it was; butshe will not return, and neither will her sister; I will never see my daughters again. It is as I was warned many an Age ago. It is a heavy price to pay, my own sacrifice."

Olwen opened her eyes softly, beckoning Arquen to come to her side. She looked deep and long into his eyes, imploring him to understand, to grasp the situation.

"It was a dark fell night; I was weary of my life with Caranthir. I cared little for my daughters. I knew only my pain, my anguish. I was afraid of what the Silmarils had done to my husband, afraid yet of what would still happen. I wanted my husband returned to me, so that I would be loved again, so that he would love me, and cherish my daughters once more. There was not a star in sight, for then the darkness had come to Valinor, the Light was gone. All I knew was my own suffering, I felt it was too great, it was suffocating me. And so I opened my heart and mind, let my anguish overtake me, and I prayed for something to end all of this—to end the House…so long as I was spared of any remnants, that I remained whole, and came to feel love, and loved again. Whatever the cost, I was ready for it."

She whispered this, trembling with each letter she pronounced.

"And as the days grew darker, and the world became harsher, I prayed continuously. Until at last, one night, I heard a voice ask me if I was truly confident that that was my one and only desire, that I would not come to rue the day I wished this one thing. And I assured the voice, that indeed this was my one and only wish, that I would never regret it. And with that the voice disappeared, and I felt as if a small part of my soul had withered. But I did not care, my prayer had been answered…"

Arquen felt his body become tense, and he felt as if Olwen was in a far recess of her mind as she said:

"The Curse of the Feanorians, that they would become dispossessed, exiled, ruined—this was my very prayer the Valar answered. It reflected my intense hatred of them, my hurt, my own malice."

Arquen was motionless, the color drained from all his face. Olwen wrapped her arms around her body, rocking herself back and forth, a small cry resounding from her lips.

"I cursed my own daughters, so that I could never see them again, so that they would suffer, and in doing so I killed them—they no longer are Noldor, but foreboding Elves of Middle-earth, foreign to even myself. And now I am paying the price of what I have sown…and there is no repenting. Will you have me yet, this Kinslayer, one who was akin to the Feanorians? That grudge is not so easy to bear now, is it? " Olwen wept bitterly, her body shaking violently. "I deserve nothing!"

Vanië paused on the threshold of the great house of her mother, her belongings gathered with her in a small bundle. She had known this would be the last greatest scar to bear, hers to struggle through alone. Vanimë had always been there to rescue her, and though she had come to her aid when she confronted Arquen, the rest of the path was now hers to tread. Her mother's confession was the greatest, and though she felt herself retreat into her own psyche, she realized she could not do this anymore. She had to accept the cold hard facts of her life, and move on, as her mother had said, as Vanimë had repeatedly told her. The ancient wounds of old were laid bare, and now they had only to heal. Taking one last glance at the grand house of her mother, Vanië stepped across the threshold, and pulled the front door shut behind her. And then she knew it was barred from her forever, this land of Light and green and Trees, this land of her birth. Already she could see it was becoming surreal to her, and she felt heavy, as if in a dream.

"Forfirith, daughter of Caranthir…I bid you well."

Vanië turned, surprised, as a stranger shrouded and hooded in white approached her.

"Vanië is my name." she replied.

"Nay, it is Forfirith, Lady of Fangorn Forest." the voice insisted. "Fangorn laments your return more than the losing of the Entwives."

"How could you know this? I believe I have not met you, sir."

"I am the one who knows all your secrets you poured into Fangorn Forest."

Vanië instantly kneeled on the ground, her eyes misty with tears.

"Forgive me…I knew you not…"

"Rise, my child, you have learned much, and suffered much. This land is not the comfort you need, the peace you seek. You were not meant to be happy here, and neither was your sister. Your struggles have been accepted, your pain eased, and a pardon granted. The divide between this shore and your home will remain, yet if ever you seek to look upon this land, you have only to think of it and you shall be here in spirit. For all the sins of your fathers, for all that you have given up willingly and unwillingly, you have earned the gift that changed the World. It shall be the Light eternal. I think you shall find new life waiting for you. The Sea and the other shore beckons…" the stranger said, the voice lulling her to sleep.

When Vanië awoke, she found herself astride a magnificent ship, pulled by swans. In her arms she bore a small satchel, which she hugged closer to herself, tears streaming down her face. They had attained pardon at last, and their hearts would now find the peace they needed.

"Yet the story must continue, the truth must be told…" Vanië said aloud, her eyes straying to the stars. "The Lady of Fangorn Forest bids that the embers of this most accursed fire be doused."


	18. Descent into Darkness

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing save my own creations; all the rest belong to Tolkien.

**Descent into Darkness**

Dawn came too quickly for Amorith. She took shelter in one of the Marchwarden's talans for the night, and obtained only a little rest—her dreams were troublesome. They were filled with grievous nightmares and sadness. Exhaustion was steeling over her slowly; she wanted to cross the river Anduin before noon while her ebbing strength lasted for the day. Amorith still had a few days' worth of journeying before reaching the palace of Thranduil, and the path through Mirkwood would be quite treacherous. It had been many years since her absence from the lands of her beloved Elven-King, yet that forest would be much feller than fairer. Legolas had informed her how his home had fallen into disarray since her exile from Mirkwood. She had seen him after his escape from Moria, with the Fellowship. They had gone together silently into the mallorn trees of the Golden Wood, many unspoken words on their lips, taking comfort and solace in each other's company.

"Mirkwood is not what it once was, when you walked beneath its fair trees, and dwelt in my father's cavern-palace. The Shadow grows ever darker, and our people no longer journey except for dire need. The King has taken to his own council, and when he seeks his advisors, it is merely for the sake of appearances. His own court fears his anger. He does not heed their words. Outside the castle it is unsafe."

He told her this while he lay with his head in her lap, as she softly stroked his hair. Amorith sang quietly to him, as she had done when he was an elfling centuries ago. She gazed down at him, her eyes observing the man he had grown into, a Prince of his people, burdened with the worries of his troubled father and of the Fellowship. His eyes, once full of warmth and merriment, were now as cold and hard as his own father's eyes. Her heart ached to see his handsome face riddled with the same harsh look Thranduil had given her on that ill-fated night so long ago. No longer was he the innocent little child that needed protection; he had too many troubles weighing down his mind. She felt his anger and resentment, and it broke her spirit.

"Amorith…mother…what is the matter?"

Legolas sat up quickly, alarm etched on his face. He had felt Amorith's silent tears as they had fallen onto his face. He hated to see her grief displayed such.

"I am so glad to see you, my dearest elfling. It has been very difficult for me to remain here. So many times I have thought of leaving, of returning to my own home, yet I find myself powerless to do so. I long to return to Mirkwood very much, for I do love it, but you know it cannot be." she replied, smiling despite the tears.

"One day you will return. And if not, then I shall freely abandon my father and join you. I cannot dwell in a place where you are not with me."

"You cannot leave your father, as much as I would love to have you with me, my darling. He needs you, and he loves you above all else."

"I have not dwelled in the castle for a very long time now. I have spent all my time warding off Dol Guldur, keeping the spiders and other fell creatures at bay. It would be no grand change if I left Mirkwood permanently. He would not notice that I left."

Amorith shook her head, cupping Legolas' chin with one hand while she brushed her other hand along his cheek. So fair he was, like his father…

"No, Legolas, if there is one thing I do know very well, it is your father. He bears great love for you, even though it does not always show. And if it does show, it is hard to discern. If you should leave Mirkwood permanently, he will grieve. Trust me when I tell you that your bond with the Fellowship is a very sharp blow to him. I can feel his sadness and worry for you; it is as heavy as the mountains. And it is this—his love for you—that prevents me from accepting your generous offer…"

Legolas smiled at the Noldo Princess. Taking both her hands to his lips, he kissed them tenderly. It pained him to see her so alone, wounded and abandoned.

"I know not what my father did to earn your love, for to me his last deed should have undone it. Yet here you are, after all these centuries, still loving him as ever. You know he refuses your name still to be mentioned, even though a few times I have caught him whispering your name as if in a prayer. I do believe he regrets his decision at times, yet his pride will not allow him to admit it. I would see to it your glory restored, our kingdom basking in your presence again—if this Fellowship achieves the task appointed to it. Our people cannot live in the darkness any longer, the darkness of the Shadow, and the shadow of darkness of my father."

They both looked up as Haldir approached. He beckoned for Legolas to follow him.

"Come, Legolas, the Fellowship is ready to leave. The others are waiting."

Amorith rose, and embraced Legolas to her bosom as tightly as she could. She could feel his pounding heart racing alongside hers, their tears mingling on their faces. At length, she held him away from her, nodding to him in farewell.

"Go now, my child, go with the blessings and protection of the Valar. I shall pray this task is finished, and that we shall meet again under happier circumstances."

She took Haldir's offered arm and allowed herself to be escorted to the river, where the boats awaited. Amorith stood by silently, watching Lady Galadriel as the Nine

Walkers were clad in the garments of the Galadhrim, gratefully accepting the gifts she bestowed upon them. Legolas' gaze never once left that of the lady for whom he bore so much affection, the one whom he regarded as his true mother.

"My heart never falters for those whom I love dearly…no matter the cost I pay."

He heard her words pierce the stillness of his mind, and in his soul he wept for her.

'_And when will the cost be unbearable?'_ Amorith thought with a sigh.

She rose to her feet. Once she was ready, she set out on her journey to Mirkwood.

Míriel was roused by the soft voices around her. The sharp pain in her abdomen, that was so violently upsetting her the previous evening, was now gone. She felt a leaden weight throughout her body, as if she were unable to carry herself. Every movement felt like an eternity. She was anxious, and a small cry escaped her lips. The screen parted, and the healer entered, graciously smiling down at her.

"You have woken, I see. The pain should be gone now, but your body will be quite exhausted, as it seems you have found out. The child within you is unharmed."

Míriel managed a weak smile.

"I am hungry."

The healer called to a servant to attend to Míriel.

"I shall call the King, as he asked to be notified when you woke. If you need anything in my absence, my maiden will tend to you."

There was a small commotion beyond the curtain, and Míriel recognized the King's footsteps. The curtain was pulled aside swiftly as he stepped through.

"I was just informed you will be unable to attend court for at least this day." said Thranduil. "You must gain your strength back. Whatever you need, whatever you desire, you should call. This maid here will tend to you. You are free of your duties, save for the one small task of attending court as I see fit. You may go wherever you please, except for leaving the palace—this I will not allow. Yet this should not come as a surprise to you at all, since I have already ordered that all travel beyond the gates is forbidden, excepting urgent business only."

Míriel did not say a word. Thranduil knelt by her side, whispering.

"I do not care to know whom the sire of your child is, though I thought better of you than to do so. And if…She was here, there would be more disappointment." Míriel looked up at him as he said this, yet Thranduil held her gaze. "I have always regarded you like my own child, and I promised to look after you, though of late I have not been most attentive. Indeed, I have not even been attentive to my own kingdom at all, not even my own flesh and blood. Many things I regret, yet I cannot alter the flow of time. I must do what I can now to salvage what remains. Ruin will come swiftly to us if I do not do so. Mirkwood is descending into chaos, both from within my own court, and from outside of it. I need you by my side, Míriel. You are the last stronghold of strength for me, for no one else remains at my side. I have driven all those whom I have loved, and who have loved me, far away."

She felt his warm tears dampen her hands. She was still angry at him, yet how could she deny her King this simple request? Here he knelt, acknowledging to her his solitude, his own wounds. He had revealed to her secrets he would as soon deny to anyone else. All matters aside, he remained King, and Mirkwood needed her King to be strong once again. At his core, Thranduil was not at all evil. He undoubtedly had faults, the same as anyone. Míriel realized that he was not the only one to be blamed for his doings. She had not been as kindly towards him as was her nature, nor as she promised Amorith. Even Legolas had shunned his father. Perhaps if they had shown him more compassion, he would not have become as resentful as he now was. Some things could not be mended, but others could be saved.

"Not all, _aran n__í__n _(my king). Not everything you must blame yourself for. If I was a truly loyal subject, I would not have neglected you. I would have shown you more patience. Now is not the time to dwell on what should have occurred, for much time has been wasted doing so already. If you need me by your side, I will oblige you most willingly." Míriel said, smiling softly back at him. "Though I cannot deny, there are past circumstances that grieve me still, and I will try my very best not to let them always cloud my judgment, and interfere with my actions."

Thranduil rose to his feet. She grabbed his hand as he turned.

"Innas…" she whispered.

His back stiffened momentarily, then relaxed.

"He will make a wonderful father, when he returns…"

"He is a wonderful husband."

Thranduil glanced sharply at Míriel.

"We wedded in secrecy, for we feared your wrath if you found out. I know that speculation surrounds you and me, and many think this is your child. I will not be silent any longer. And in light of our prior conversation, I beg you not to speak of this with me. It is done, and nothing you say now will undo it. I carry his child now, and if more grief affects me, I fear the next time I shall not be as lucky."

He nodded.

"Very well, I shall speak of it no more, though it comforts me to know you are wedded. Forgive me for thinking of you in a slightly demeaning manner."

She watched him leave, the curtains bellowing drawn behind him, only to be opened a few moments later by the maid. She carried a tray laden with food. Míriel sat up in bed, resolved to eat and gather her strength. She sensed that she would need it for the coming days. And without strength, one could not fight.

"Oh my dearest Innas, how I wish you were here with me now. Do you know that I carry your child?" she whispered silently, the tears that she had fought and held back during Thranduil's presence now spilling without end.

Amorith had not gotten very far when she heard something stirring. She hid behind a tree, her hand ready on her bow. She strained her ears, listening closely. The wind ruffled the leaves above her, adding to her heightened alertness. The ground shook slightly, and a foul smell came to her. The next instant something alighted on her shoulders. She gave a small cry, turning to find a familiar looking hawk calling softly to her. He held out his wing, and she quickly removed the concealed letter.

"Ai, Maeglin!" she said, stroking his feathers with one hand as she read the letter.

She immediately recognized Míriel's handwriting. The first two paragraphs were of no real surprise to her—she had already known that Thranduil was hiding what was left of her legend in Mirkwood from what Legolas had told her. Yet it still pained her to read it, and she felt herself trembling. She felt her anger grow as she read about Innas being sent away. Thranduil was losing his control; he needed someone to guide him. Amorith hoped Míriel would not despair, although from her letter it appeared that the maiden had long ago abandoned her King—

Maeglin took flight, screeching. Amorith felt the letter slip from her fingers as the harsh cries of the Orcs filled her ears. In warning, she called to Haldir with her mind. She sensed Lady Galadriel's awareness of the oncoming danger. Above her, the sun seemed to become a little less bright. Ahead of her, a sea of black roved. She called to Maeglin to hurry his return to Míriel, thinking it strange that Maeglin would attempt to carry her off…and what was that? Were those his tears?

She looked down to find an arrow lodged in her shoulder, she had not noticed it pierce her. Blood already soaked through. Amorith broke the tip off, yet the arrow remained imbedded. She summoned her strength, and managed to swing into the branches above, safe for the moment. Below, the Orcs came like a forsaken plague.

"All these centuries, and now I am racing against time. Please, I beg of you, spare my life for only a few days longer. I must make it to Mirkwood, to save Lórien."


	19. The Rescue

DISCLAIMER: Everything that I write is my own, save for those that belong to Tolkien.

**The Rescue**

_It is very ironic, that we, the Elves, have never had the inconvenience of worrying about time. Time, we learn from a very delicate age, is our gift. Every action we take is built upon this, every word spoken. While the race of Man fears time, we embrace it wholly. While they build homes to last the winter, we build mansions to withstand all of eternity, so that even when we go West across the Sea, our places of dwelling remain as heralds to our presence. Men are ever in a race against time, ever worried about accomplishing what they value to be truly important. The Eldar are everlasting, reveling in the time they have to obtain wisdom and knowledge._

_I finally understand this race that Men find themselves caught up in inevitably._

Arquen and Olwen stared at the form of Vanimë. She seemed a little whiter, and there was a curious crimson area on her shoulder, which appeared wet.

"_You see, I was wounded by a poisonous arrow. I became distracted by the letter my dear Míriel sent me, and never noticed what happened to me until it was too late. I felt the effects of the poison slowly infiltrate my body, yet I was not learned in the knowledge of healing. Of ancient magic and crafting I knew more, but not of healing. And my Lady Galadriel's realm was under attack. There was nothing I could do now but continue on my journey. Precious time would be lost if I went back to Caras Galadhon to seek healing. Hope now was for Mirkwood to answer."_

Olwen felt her tears as they slid down her face, and Arquen tightened his hold on her. Every emotion Amorith felt, they shared as well. When she was happy, they felt elated, and when she was angered, they felt her wrath flowing through them. Now a sudden panic and anxiety filled them, as well as a realization of impending doom. The two Elves could even feel themselves somewhat dulled, which they knew to be from the poisonous arrow which struck Amorith. It was remarkable how they could feel her every emotion, as if they were the originators of these feelings, and not merely passive recipients. A sudden worry filled Olwen, yet before she could voice it, she felt herself drawn back into the memory-story of Vanimë.

Innas was woken roughly from his rest, a horrifying image come to his mind. He tried to shake the memory from his thoughts, but it lingered, and in his heart he feared the worst. He kept a vigilant watch on the Orcs, who still camped at the banks of the river Anduin. Their lack of action made him wary. He felt as if he were missing some vital information, that he was overlooking something.

"Any news?" he called to one of his men.

The Elf shook his head gravely.

"They merely sit there," he replied.

Innas felt his suspicions rise.

"And how long have they been camping at the river?"

"A fortnight sir."

Innas paced anxiously. There was something evil at work. Orcs were not known to be docile. If they were not engaged in action, then what could they be doing?

"Send some scouts to the river. I want you to search the banks and the shores very carefully. If you must, take a few rafts, search the opposite shore as well."

The Elf bowed then hurried away. Innas frowned at his retreating back.

"Ai, Valar, I know not what to do…"

He had not heard from his beloved Míriel since he had left the palace, not even a letter. Part of him was angered, anxious about her safety. Yet he told himself that perhaps she was confused, that she needed time to comprehend everything. His leave was not entirely without consequence, and he had to accept responsibility for his actions. He smiled a little to himself; then suddenly he felt ashamed.

"_What if Amorith knew? Surely she would be disappointed," _he thought.

He did not know why, but the last few days he had become more aware of his mind being distracted by thoughts of Amorith. He was not gifted, like other Elves, with the ability to sense another's feelings, nor could he speak with his mind. Yet he was becoming more and more preoccupied regarding the Noldo Princess. When he rose from his rest, he wondered how she was faring, when he looked across the river Anduin especially he felt a little pang in his heart, and at night he again became worried about her. It was not to say that he never thought of her before, only that of late his mind was focused on her much more than the usual. That was what had woken him; he had a vision in his rest of Amorith becoming increasingly distressed.

"Calm yourself, Innas, it was merely a vision." he said to himself.

For distraction, he went to oversee a group of swordsmen training. He watched their quick blows and agile movements as they attacked and defended themselves against their partners. One of his men approached him, bowing, requesting him for a friendly spar. Innas obliged him by unsheathing his own sword and bowing in reply. Just as he was about to attack, one of the archers called sharply to him.

"Captain, something circles us from above. Shall I shoot it?"

Innas glanced quickly upward.

"Let it come down, for I do not think this is a bearer of evil."

A few moments later, Maeglin alighted softly on his shoulder, a shrill cry escaping him. He bobbed his head several times, looking in the direction of the Golden Wood. In his beak he carried a small item, which Innas took from him. The Elf went silent as he studied the token. He trembled slightly.

"Maeglin, take me there. And make haste!"

The hawk took flight, alighting in a nearby tree. Innas' face was grim with fear.

"What is it, my lord?" a thousand voices asked.

"Amorith needs assistance. I fear the Golden Wood has been attacked. I am going to search for her. Send no word to the King for the moment. If I do not return by nightfall, then consider my absence permanent. Only then must you send word to the King, and do so hastily. Dark days are upon us now."

Amorith was aghast at the sheer number of Orcs that poured into the kingdom of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. She waited above them, tears pouring down her face. She did not ever conceive of the notion that this beautiful wood would ever be attacked. Mirkwood, of course, and even she had entertained the notion of Imladris being possibly attacked, or an attempt of an attack made, but never this fair realm. Perhaps it was not that she was unable to conceive of the idea, but rather that she did not want to entertain the idea. She had hid for so long here, this last sanctuary of peace and solitude, that now all hope of rest seemed forever doomed to her. The softness of the Noldo Princess that dwelt yet within her looked upon the horrific scene displayed below with an air of one who has beheld such ghastly events many a time before, and with each renewed scene she wept afresh.

"Such evil as this one could never get used to," she said to herself.

She did not how long she stayed in her current position; only that she became aware that a few of the Orcs stopped quite suddenly below her. They sniffed the air; something seemed to have caught their attentions. A little too late, Amorith remembered her wounded shoulder. She looked and saw that it had been bleeding, although not so much as before, since she had tied a piece of cloth to stem the flow of blood. Yet it trickled a little still. She hoped that it would not be noticed by the Orcs below. So intent was she on not being noticed by them, that she did not see Maeglin alight on a nearby branch, and in his doing this, giving her quite a startle, a small scream managed to escape from her mouth. The harshness of the Orcs was stopped only momentarily before the air became filled with the sound of whizzing all around her—they were shooting at her with more of their poisoned arrows.

"Their arrows are poisoned!" she cried, reaching again with her mind to Galadriel and Haldir. "Oh pray, that I have not been too late in this warning, and that you receive it! Oh Maeglin, you absurd creature, why did you return?"

He took off, barely escaping the arrows all around him. Amorith noted that he did not fly too far from her, just above the treetops. She cried to him again and again, softly, in her own native tongue, for him to make haste to Mirkwood and leave her. He remained, though, flying as if purposefully. A few times she almost was again wounded, were it not for the noble hawk that darted and caught the arrows himself. He urged her on with soft cries as she hurried through the talans, realizing that her attire of glaring red did not conceal her against the gold leaves of the mallorn trees. If anything, she proved an easy mark. Stealing a few downward glances, she was aware that she did not detain the entire company of Orcs, yet she was happy to be of any distraction from the doom that was moving steadily onwards to the great city of Caras Galadhon. Her shoulder she could not tend to at the present moment, though it was beginning to ache, and her strength was waning more steadily than she wished. The branches of the mallorn trees never seemed to end as she pushed on through them, running as fast as she could dare, scraping herself as she went. Her hair became untangled, yet she had not the instant to spare. Above her Maeglin was ever her encourager. After awhile, she became aware that there were no more sounds of arrows whistling, and she paused briefly to look downwards. There was not a single black Orc in sight. She breathed a sigh of relief. Taking the moment to attend to herself, she tied her hair in an unruly knot. Having no spare pieces of cloth with her, she resorted to tearing a strip of her clothing and placing it over the old and now very bloody bandage on her shoulder. Maeglin came to assist her, holding one end while she wrapped and tied it.

"The evening is almost upon us, and I do believe that soon I will reach the river Anduin. Maeglin, are there any more Orcs on our way?" she said.

He flew ahead of her, almost until he was out of sight, and then dove below her, knowing she was meant to follow. She alighted slowly, for now her shoulder was becoming quite bothersome, and she noted that her skin had a pale look to it. Once she reached the forest ground, looking about her carefully for any sign of danger, she took off at her current greatest speed. Maeglin flew swiftly into the settling dusk. Ahead, she could see the sun, and she could smell the river. Her excitement arose anew, and with a fresh burst of speed she ran on. The forest was becoming thinner now. She ran in the heavy tracks made by the Orcs. A few fires Amorith noticed, and she was reminded of the accounts her sister Forfirith had told her of the Orcs of Isengard ruthlessly cutting down the forest of Fangorn.

Suddenly an overpowering urge seized her in that instant, and Amorith sank slowly onto her knees, weeping. She looked all around her in alarm and fear.

"Oh, in vain, I cannot do this anymore. What madness possessed me to think that there is any hope in Mirkwood, in the court of the very one who has thrown me out like a common criminal? I, who know more of the workings of his mind than anyone else—to even believe that he would even give a pretence to listen to me?" she cried aloud. Yet none heard her, not even Maeglin, who had gone beyond the boundaries of her elven sight. "Even he knows it is in vain, for he has gone and forsaken me."

She was taken by a sudden swoon, collapsing onto the mallorn leaves.

Innas had spent several hours trekking through the first boundary of Lórien. He was greatly grieved, for many fair Marchwardens lay dead. There were a few number of Orc corpses as well, but those of the Elves outnumbered the Orcs vastly. He noticed the deep and heavy tracks they left in the ground, and he wept for the sacred earth of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn to have been desecrated. If it had not been for the pride of his King, this might not have come to pass.

"Sir, it is time we left. There is none here alive, and we have not found any sign of her. It is very likely she is in Caras Galadhon," a guard informed him.

Innas refused to listen.

"I tell you I have seen her in my visions. And we needed to see this, nay, you needed to see this, for we travel to tell our King of this atrocity."

The guard stiffened. "Of course," he said.

Innas strode a little ahead when he heard a chuckle.

"You cannot stop the will of the Dark Master!"

Innas found the Orc, his body severed. He was dying slowly, but was not completely dead yet. He summoned a few of his men.

"Bring him with us," he said to them in Sindarin. In the Common Speech, bent over him, Innas told the Orc, "Indeed, for now you have my wrath to fear. Though I am not Dark, I am your master now."

The Orc spat at him, laughing. An archer pulled an arrow from his quiver and made to shoot the Orc, when something flew at them with a scream.

"Maeglin! He has found her! Take me to her!" Innas cried.

Later he would recall how the beating of his own heart was so deafening he could hear nothing else. He ran so quickly, that to those observing him they could not distinguish between Innas and the hawk. Some swore that they were one, the hawk and Innas. All Innas could focus on was the finding of Amorith now. He had always wanted to see the mallorn trees for himself, and revel in the delights of Lórien, yet now his mission was of more importance than self indulgence. In his haste to seek Amorith out, he almost blew past her, if it were not for the screech of Maeglin that halted him. The hawk was perched upon a bed of crimson, and Innas detected the scent of fresh blood. He knew it was not the lingering stench of the Orcs, for they were far off now, and the wind did not blow in this direction. His hopes sank; he had come far too late. Amorith was dead, and soon Lórien would follow.

"Oh, my dear Lady…your own love has become the death of you. How shall he live with this now?" the younger Elf cried, tears falling upon Amorith's face.

She stirred slightly.

"Rain…now there is rain, Maeglin?" she said softly.

"Ai, Valar, you are alive!" Innas cried. "Amorith, it is I! I have found you! I sent Maeglin to find and lead you to me! I have seen visions of you! Oh to be certain I thought you were dead, for I smelled blood—oh, but it is your shoulder…you look so very pale! It was foolish of me to think so—"

Amorith found she had some strength left in her to sit up.

"You are speaking much too quickly for me now, I am afraid, my dear Innas. If my memory serves, though, pray, you were never one for many words. I am not dead, not yet, though I am poisoned. And my shoulder bleeds still. I had no time to dress it appropriately, even if I wanted, for I have not the knowledge." she said.

Innas found himself rendered speechless.

"If you do nothing, though, I shall die here, and it will be no fault of anyone save yours. Come Innas, I bid you to carry me. I find my strength has left me."

With a renewed heart, Innas did as he was bid. Maeglin led the way once more, though Innas did not run as quickly as before. The journey back to the shores of Anduin felt much longer to him than in the pursuit of Amorith, yet by the time the sun had set, they found Innas' companions waiting impatiently with Maeglin. They were all silent as they perceived the form of Amorith in Innas' arms.

"She is poisoned, she needs attention. It is too late for Lórien. We must hurry back to Dol Guldur. Let us not forget that Orc we found still alive." he said.

"He succumbed to his death, but not without informing us that this is but the first of three assaults on Lórien, and that Mirkwood will not be spared. Death is upon us."


	20. The Fears of All

DISLCLAIMER: Anything you recognize belongs to Tolkien. Everything else is my creation.

**The Fears of All**

Amorith succumbed to the weariness that had long stolen her strength that day, secure in the knowledge that she was now with Innas. She felt herself being lifted onto the raft and placed gently on something soft, the rocking of the waves lulling her into a sense of ease. Maeglin perched nearby, his tail twitching slightly as he kept his balance on the precarious raft. She could smell the stench of burning flesh, and she knew that not all of it was Orc. When she asked Innas how many bodies there were, he could only half choke out his reply to her without losing control of his countenance: "You had better rest, my Lady, it is but a little treacherous now heading back to our encampment at Dol Guldur without being noticed". She had managed to stop one of his men, and when she posed the same question to him, she received only a little more information than his Captain had permitted, yet just enough to realize the extent of the situation: "At times it was hard to distinguish the cloaks of our Lórien kin from the bodies of those grievous Orcs". Amorith turned her head aside, fresh tears dampening her face. There was a static tension in the air around her, as if there were many unspoken thoughts being suppressed. Innas resumed his usual demeanor, withdrawn in silence. His men had a similar look about them, and Amorith knew more than to attempt to satisfy her curiosity. She caught Innas looking at her. "It would be very wise for you not to seek out those answers you desire," he said, referring to her ability to look into their minds. Bowing her head slightly, she communicated her understanding. For once, she would repress her innate curiosity, sometimes the bane of her Noldorin kin.

"_If you seek answers, you must accept the truth."_

Her sister Forfirith's voice filled her mind reverberatingly. Amorith smiled in spite of herself. Of the two, Forfirith was calmer of mind, more civil in her manners. She did not press any matter, only waited for events to unfold. Quite the opposite, Amorith was known for her fiery temper, her impatience to allow things to flow naturally. Ever curious, ever thirsting for more knowledge, she often tested many boundaries. In Valinor, they had always fought incessantly, and in Middle-earth their sparring continued. Amorith's pride and haughtiness did not suit the quiet, humble ways of Forfirith. This, more than anything, led to their separation. Many times Amorith found herself in blunders she could not escape from, in which Forfirith had never interfered. Forfirith resolved in burying herself in the shadow of Fangorn Forest, concerning herself with nothing of the world, convinced that they were forsaken, that they had to accept their doomed fate. Her sister, however, stubborn as ever, refused to accept this notion, and resolved to seek out their salvation.

Amorith lay steeping in her thoughts until she felt the raft touch the opposite shore. She found herself able to stand, though weakly, and move with the men. They drew their hoods and cloaks about them tightly, drawing their weapons. Once they had assessed that the surrounding area was of no immediate danger to them, they slipped cautiously into the trees. Amorith felt her breath caught in her throat at the realization that she was now back in Mirkwood. Beside her, Innas placed his hand on her shoulder, as if aware of her thoughts, whispering: "Be advised, my Lady, we will pass abreast of a large encampment of Orcs. I have told my awaiting men if we do not reach them by nightfall, they are to consider us gone."

He exchanged glances among his companions, urging them to remain silent of the one true thought they all were contemplating, _'King Thranduil must be told.'_

_You must be wondering how I can appear so callously indifferent to the sufferings of the Golden Wood, how selfishly absorbed in my own affairs I am. Of some of these observations I am at fault. I was being selfish, this I will not refute. I did not spend so much of my energy lamenting the burning of __Lórien as perhaps I ought to have, for it had been my home for many a century, and fair and noble Lady Galadriel was my kinswoman. But I was not entirely without feeling. I shed tears, I wept bitterly, cursing into the night. Yet I was also poisoned, and when we had at last reached the shores of Mirkwood, half of my reserves were drained—the effects of the poison were slowing me down. I had learned long ago from Beleg, that in battle, a true warrior always kept focus on what could be achieved for the current situation. If I chose to lament those who had fallen in Lórien,_ _then I would usher on my own depreciating state of body so much quicker. My constitution was failing, and what was left of my reserves had to be directed accordingly. There was still a journey ahead to be made to Thranduil, and once there, then the true battle would begin. In my present state of health, I was already jeopardizing Innas and his men, we travelled at a slower pace than desired, and I refused to be of burden to them. So long as I had enough stamina in me, I would continue on my own feet._

Arquen and Olwen found that they still could not forgive Amorith for her neglect of paying respects as was due to all those slain, they deserved a longer lament.

_There was a part of me, despite all the years in Middle-earth, which were longer than my dwelling in my sacred home, that could not show total propriety towards those lesser Elves that I dwelt with, namely the Silvans. My partial dislike of the Sindarins is understood, yet my pride and conceit won command of my view of the Silvans. They had never once seen the Light, their language was painful to my ears, and I felt vastly superior to them. As wrong as it was, those were my feelings. And, when I had taken refuge in Lórien after being cast out by Thranduil, it was the Silvan subjects of that fair realm that tried to rob me of any comfort, for they held with me mistrust. They knew my troubles, for there dwelt in Lórien some whose memories were almost as old as Galadriel's, and they knew fully who I was, and what it was I bore within me. They felt as if I were cursing their home. Fresh were my wounds of Thranduil, and their judgment of me was very scorching, and so I regarded them with as much contempt and ill will as I could. I believed that had I stayed in Lórien, they would have burned me. They would have seen the oncoming slaughter as my curse assailing them. Nothing I could ever say would change their minds, and who would blame them? Wherever I have been, death and destruction followed eventually. My comfort in all this was that Lady Galadriel knew otherwise. She alone had the wisdom to know that not all was my family's curse. _

_I still wished I had stayed in Lórien, despite knowing what might have happened to me if I had. I felt I owed a debt to Galadriel for sheltering me; for I was not entirely without feeling. She ordered me to go, refused my pleas of wanting to stay. And now, as I remember this, I believe she knew well before I realized that if I stayed, my death would have been at the hands of those whom I scorned. She had the gift of foresight that I did not, and undoubtedly there were many things that moment she knew and saw, yet could not tell me, for even if she did, I would not have understood. It was best for me that I left when I did, and it was best for Lórien as well. There was no one of Lórien who could have been spared for the heavy burden I carried—to seek King Thranduil's assistance. In me lay all the elements of success for this task: I knew the paths through Mirkwood (for none from the two kingdoms passed through the other), I knew the mannerisms and ways of the King. Only I could convince him of what must be done—if I could muster the strength. For no one could debate this topic with him and conceive of winning. From this darkness I came into Mirkwood. Lórien lay assaulted, and Mirkwood was decaying. Fair Lord Celeborn and his Lady needed an ambassador who understood them, and Innas needed an advisor for his King's court. It is ironic in that I, who has ever been the brunt of many grievances, was now the sole uniting factor for both kingdoms._

_It was this fact that held me steady on my course, gave me the patience to bear the poison slowing me down. I knew that if I did not find a way, no one would._

Innas knew that Amorith was wounded more than she allowed to be shown. Her grimaces, unnoticed by the others, were well known to him. Valiantly she was trying to bear her own weight. Nightfall was fast approaching, and they needed to reach the camp before the messenger would be sent to the palace. Speed was of necessity, and he had to convince Amorith to spare her dignity.

"I am thankful you sent Maeglin," he said, slipping beside her.

She glanced at him, confused.

"He came from the palace," she replied.

It was Innas now who looked befuddled.

"He came from the direction of Lórien."

"Míriel sent me a letter, warning me of the attack. Only it came a few moments too late. I sent him back to her; he must have seen you."

Innas was quiet.

"I did not know she sent you a letter. I have not heard from her myself after—"

But he was cut off by one of his men, who looked fearfully at the darkening sky.

"Send Maeglin with word that we are on our way. At dawn we should reach them. Tell them not to dispatch the messenger." Innas stated.

He caught Amorith's look, yet remained silent.

"If we could only sprout wings ourselves," she chuckled.

"What was that? If there is laughter to be had, do not be so selfish."

Amorith's eyes were only shining in response. She made her way to where Maeglin was perched, awaiting the letter which was being hastily written. Her hands stroked him gently, as she murmured to him softly in Quenyan. A few times he seemed to look doubtfully at her, yet she nodded encouragingly to him in return. At last, the letter was concealed under his wing, and he took off at such a speed the men marveled at. Only Amorith seemed not surprised, sitting on a stump of an old tree.

"What magic you imbued him with," Innas spoke. "What did you whisper?"

Amorith smiled secretly in reply, "I cannot answer unless you tell me what I want."

Innas sighed wearily.

"You remain still as merciless as ever. Very well, I informed my men to alert the King of the assault if we did not return by nightfall."

He gestured to the Lady to share her secret.

"I only told Maeglin to make haste."

Innas smiled.

"I think we may rest for awhile now that Maeglin has gone ahead. And let one of my men look at your shoulder. We have some medicinal plants with us, but not what you need. Yet it is better than nothing at all." he said.

She consented to this grudingly. As the examination of her shoulder proceeded, she spoke to Innas through his mind.

"Legolas informed me the state of affairs at the palace. Míriel wrote to me believing you were thrown out because of an argument you had with Thranduil about the Golden Wood, possibly even because you suggested he send help."

Innas shifted slightly, yet made no reply.

"What happened? What did you say?"

He averted her glance.

"I told him I was becoming increasingly concerned about the possibility of an attack on the Golden Wood, and that he should at the very least send word to them, let them know, if they did not already know. He refused, saying that Lady Galadriel, with Nenya, could see everything and protect her own realm. Mirkwood would not disgrace itself by helping. And if there was no attack, he would be mocked by them, for they would say that the darkness of Mirkwood made him suspicious of even the very wind itself. When he remained steadfast, I grew desperate, and I—"

He held up something in the moonlight, and she caught the glint of a small brooch. She had gifted it to him so very long ago, when he was an elfling, a small token of reward. She saw now he kept it as a token of her memory through all these years.

"I wretchedly threw you in as a pawn. I thought he would do it for you, but his resentment and anger only increased, and he said many things concerning you I am ashamed of even remembering. He told me that if I aligned myself with such a traitor, then I would receive the same treatment, and be cast out. My name would never be spoken again. I left the following morning."

Amorith stared at him. Her shoulder was dressed, new bandages had been applied. She was now bid to drink the steaming liquid that was held before her. Silently she took it, swallowing the bitterness of this news along with the medicine.

"There is no hope of reaching him now. The King we all once knew and loved is no more; there is now only a shadow. He has poisoned himself and some of the people believe him. Some do not wish for you to return anymore."

Her gaze lingered on the men with them, and in their eyes she felt the contempt she had always known and hated. Her fears, that should she return to Mirkwood, it would be only to be sent to the Halls of Mandos, were come to life. Innas cringed as he saw her grow steely, and he regretted what he had betrayed.

"And do you think that as well, deep within you?" she asked, acidity dripping.

She drained the bowl and threw it to the ground, rising to her feet in a fury. Her wrath was awoken once more, her gray eyes storming. She had believed herself to be saved, welcomed back, yet there was deceit. Even in Innas.

"Yet what am I to expect from people as lowly as this." she spat.

Innas rose to his feet, inches from her.

"You did not think that after all these millennia of my maltreatment, that I would not form designs in my mind against you? You would be fools to think otherwise. I have been unfortunate to dwell amongst those with weak minds, soured by the Evil. Yet I am not your enemy. I am the only hope we Elves have." she said.

"You misjudge me, Amorith, I never thought of you except as what I have seen and known for myself. My betrayal is that I stooped so low to appeal to my King." Innas responded to her evenly. "I have longed for your return. I wanted to send word to your Lord and Lady, even an army, but it is not at my disposal to do so. If Prince Legolas were here, it would have been done. My company is loyal to me, and as such they are loyal to you. We all have our weaknesses, our pride, our own fears and betrayals—please let us put them aside now. Let us not return to those dark days that are behind us, as you have told me, but to this moment of strength."

For several minutes none in the little enclave dared to breathe. All were watching the now silent war between Innas and Amorith. He remained calm, having obtained control of himself much quicker than his nemesis. She was torn between her rage and her satisfaction of Innas having a superior mind than her. Always she took the lower path, the one of anger and conceit. To everyone's relief, Amorith relaxed.

"It pleases me to know you recalled those old words, and have acted upon them. I thank you for reminding me. There still remains in me the bitterness and suspicions of old. Forgive me for despairing and living the dark days." she smiled in apology.

"Those dark days are not over yet." Innas replied, and she knew she was forgiven.

A guard started to collect the items strewn about the camp. The fire was doused, lookouts placed. Amorith stretched, preparing to move on. If they intended to reach by dawn the elven encampment at Dol Guldur, they had to leave now. She felt her strength renewed, not wholly, yet more than she remembered it to be earlier that day. Her shoulder, she was told, was infected. They did not remove the arrowhead for fear of causing further damage. She knew what the examiner's eyes revealed to be true, she was worsening, and she needed proper attention quickly. Amorith only hoped that her message would be conveyed in time.


	21. A Divided Court

DISCLAIMER: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien, the rest is mine.

**A Divided Court**

King Thranduil felt a disturbance. He could not explain it, but he knew something out of the usual affairs of his realm was occurring. He did not yet know that the Golden Wood had been assailed and Amorith was injured; he did not feel that there was anything more evil and sinister brewing than there already was present in his kingdom. Every moment of his waking hours that day, he felt a sort of tenseness in the air, an awkward silence hung heavy through the halls of his palace. No one said anything more than was necessary, laughter was curt. Even Míriel's singing was of a woeful tale, and he had sent her away as soon as she had finished. His courtiers sat in their chairs, all staring at him, waiting for the unknown.

"Any news from Dol Guldur?" he asked.

They looked in amazement at him. He had not asked this in awhile.

"No one has heard anything since your last order to Captain Innas." they replied. "There have been no reports of any kind, Lord."

He sighed impatiently.

"Any news of the Fellowship?" he asked, his voice betraying the slightest worry.

There were a few heads shaking now, the King was at his wits' end.

"Sire, the last we heard he was in Rohan still, after Isengard was defeated at the battle of Helm's Deep. He is unhurt. He travels with Aragorn, and also a Dwarf, Gimli. They are all with Gandalf now, and two Hobbits. Frodo and Sam are alone."

Thranduil paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. His sapphire eyes were glinting. This news he knew already, yet he found himself eager to hear it again as he had the first time it was told to him, several days ago. There was much on his mind he wished to say, yet he found himself torn. It was not fear; it was not indecisiveness…for the first time in his life Thranduil wished for all this talk of war and despair to stop. Currently, it seemed all that anyone thought of was ill. He was tired of the incessant worries about possible attacks, either his palace or elsewhere. And he was not responsible for anything beyond his own borders; if the neighboring lands were assaulted he was not to be held accountable. Those rulers were the responsible parties. If Dol Guldur wanted to lay waste to his palace, it would have already done so. It was not, like his courtiers argued daily, that the opportune moment had not yet presented itself, that the Dark forces were awaiting and amassing a vast army. Meanwhile, his subjects were forced to remain hiding like frightened rabbits because of these rumors that have so far not been proven factual. Since when did he allow rumors to become laws? He was King Thranduil, Lord of Mirkwood. No, his kingdom was much stronger than everyone thought. Dol Guldur had not, and would not, attack him. The forest was still safe to travel. There was nothing to be feared, nothing to be wary of, save for those who persisted to spread more lies throughout his halls, those whom he deemed traitors. While he allowed his mind to continue this internal debate, he heard the following words:

"…Innas believes we should send word…"

"…the Shadow spreads even more…"

"…departing for Imladris, with my family…join the others…"

This last he heard spoken aloud, and his reverie came to a halt. He turned around quickly, robes bellowing fluidly, his face turning a dangerous shade of red.

"I cannot believe what I have just heard. Is there no one here loyal to his King? Some speak of the _rumors_ of Dol Guldur attacking, others of the darkness, and yet others confess of open abandonment. Is this what my court has become, a mere council of merriment, where lies and treachery are spoken of so lightly?" he hissed.

One of the courtiers stood. Thranduil recognized him as Aranel, one of those who remained loyal to Amorith. He had openly opposed Thranduil when he had exiled her, and was always first in objecting when the King rejected any reports of Dol Guldur. It was Aranel who suggested that a temporary ban on travel not related to matters of the kingdom be banned, and ruefully did Thranduil regret this. He was angered that Aranel now opposed him after being his most trusted advisor.

"Lord, I speak for myself when I say that nothing save loyalty lies here. I beg you to let me speak plainly now, for I harbor no treachery or deceit towards you or the kingdom. I regard things with more open a mind, and less biasness than has been your tendency of late. I swore to uphold this beloved kingdom, and so I have done to the best of my abilities since I took up this position in your court, and even until this very hour. I am quite concerned for Mirkwood, and for you. I seem to detect indifference in you. Your subjects grow restless. There is a severe danger plaguing us, and yet we slumber, doing nothing about it. Dol Guldur—"

Thranduil held up his hand for silence, and Aranel grew silent.

"Dol Guldur, Dol Guldur! This is all I hear! Such an obsession there is about that accursed place! If Dol Guldur would only attack and be done with us all so that I may rest in peace with my kin in the Halls of Mandos! How weary are my ears of hearing its name! Tell me, Aranel, why is it that we have not been attacked yet?"

"They gather their forces, Lord—"

Again Thranduil cut him short, laughing, "Yes, yes, we have all heard this before! You told me this when my son left and still there has been no attack! I suspended all leisurely travel throughout the kingdom based on your information. And what have we to show for it? Disgruntled people, doubting their King's judgment—"

"I speak only from complete loyalty to you and Mirkwood—your judgment has been doubtful well before this, sire." Aranel tersely said, interrupting his King.

There was now complete silence in the court. Every pair of eyes was locked on Aranel and his King. Around him, Thranduil saw a number of shocked looks, yet from shock of the words, or shock of them being spoken aloud, he could not tell. Yet there were those who seemed to side with Aranel, and they murmured approval in whispers to each other as they nodded their heads. A large faction remained silent, regarding the scene before them carefully. This faction filled Thranduil with dread. How many stood in Aranel's company? He noticed, to his relief, that there were a few of his courtiers who stared at Aranel with hatred. He was relieved to know that he had not lost complete control of his court yet. They moved closer to the King. This action seemed like an avalanche effect, for no sooner had the band circled around Thranduil than another group joined Aranel. There now remained a third portion, and they stood on the outskirts of the two parties, the undecided. Aranel waited until the movement subsided before continuing.

"The current decline of our kingdom and your judgment, to me, seem to coincide with the exile of Amorith." he said, aware of the murmured reaction to his having spoken the name of the former Mistress of Mirkwood aloud, which was forbidden. "I recall you being quite content with her, and our realm then was so much the fairer and safer. You, sire, were much more amiable. Yet when you exiled her, it seems you lost a part of your soul. You withdrew into yourself, distancing us. Suspicions and anger filled your every fiber, and you acted rashly. You poisoned your mind against her, and were able to convert some of your subjects to your view. Yet not all of us were easily deceived. We knew of her love for you, for Mirkwood—"

Thranduil laughed, yet Aranel continued his speech unwaveringly.

"You remain steadfast that Amorith, her true name being Vanimë, one daughter of Caranthir, of the line of Fëanor, desired only to rule your kingdom for herself, that she was aligned with Dol Guldur to overthrow you. You will have us believe that she did not love you, that she did not love us. If so, why has she not taken this realm so long ago? Why has she not joined forces with the noble Lady Galadriel, whom you also mistrust, and overthrown you? Her twin sister, Vanië, resides in Fangorn. Why did she not join Isengard? If they are truly evil, they would have done so."

Thranduil gazed heatedly at Aranel in reply, "I do not know the ways of evil."

Aranel closed his eyes, shaking his head, saying, "Still, you persist in saying that she is evil? I know of the Kinslaying, of the misfortunes of old, yet I cannot see that our beloved Mistress and her sister are of the same designs. Everything that they have done, and not done, proves otherwise. What befell so many Ages ago still clouds your vision, my Lord! I beg you to stop! We need you, Mirkwood needs her King of old to lead and protect her! The days grow darker, please do not make them anymore full of shadow than they already are. The threat of Dol Guldur is real, and it will come. I do not know why it has not occurred yet, but it will. We are already divided, as you see, the Enemy will gain much from our mistrust. Can you not see that all this is to his advantage only? This is not of Amorith's doing at all."

He ended his speech passionately, beseeching to his King.

"Mirkwood needs her King, and her King needs loyal subjects. I see my court today, divided as it is, and can only thank Amorith. She planted these seeds of deceit long ago, and she will wait until we are at the brink of death to reap what she sowed. Trust me, she will return, but not for our saving. Dol Guldur does not attack for one reason—because we are strong. There is no danger from there. Our people have nothing to fear except for the traitors before me." Thranduil said. He motioned for the guards to surround Aranel and his company, saying, "From this minute, I will not sit idly by any longer and allow lies to ruin my halls. Take them away."

But Aranel stood defiantly.

"You have no power over me. In vain I have exhausted myself attempting to help you through the barriers of your mind. I will join my family in Imladris, and implore Lord Elrond. He, at least, will not allow folly to be the councilor of his judgment. A great evil haunts our door, I can feel it. And when Amorith does return, for it is inevitable that she does, I hope you throw yourself at her feet and beg her mercy, for there is no equal to the wrath of the Noldor when they have been wronged. This, at least, Lord, you know. I leave you now. May the Valar protect you!"

Thranduil watched in silence as he and his companions walked out calmly, the guards merely standing, observing this odd scene before them. After the doors shut behind them, Thranduil turned his back, striding to his throne.

"If there are any who wish to join them, now is your time."

Yet none moved, and Thranduil settled to preside over the remainder of his court.

Míriel was in the library, pouring over a stack of books when there was a tap on her shoulder. She turned and saw Aranel behind her, an urgent look on his face. She moved with him silently to the back, sensing a matter of greatness.

"I have no time, so I will speak hastily. I am leaving for Imladris now, and I want you to come with me. My family awaits me. It is not safe for you any longer here. You must come away at once with me." he said.

"I cannot, I promised the King I would remain with him. And Innas…" she said.

"There is no hope in the King, he will lead us all to doom happily and blindly. As for Innas, he cannot be reached now. You must come with me now, child."

Míriel grew silent.

"I have to stay here, I am with child…his child." she whispered.

Aranel's face softened momentarily, "My grandchild?"

Míriel nodded.

Aranel closed his eyes, offering a prayer of thanks to the Valar.

"Even more reason for you to come with me to Imladris. Lord Elrond is an excellent healer; both you and the child will be in the best care."

Yet Míriel shook her head again.

"I await Amorith."

"I fear when she comes, it will be too late. If she comes at all, for Innas informed me it is likely the Golden Wood will be attacked, and I doubt she will come here."

"I sent her a letter warning her of this the day Innas left. I urged her to return to us. I am sure she will come. She will not abandon Mirkwood, not her King."

"You know there is no hope in that cause. She has been forsaken. She has a new home, Lórien, and we have no authority to ask her to return to us no matter how strong the desire. Why should she return here, where so much grief occurred?"

"Because she is needed, she is the only one who can save us. You know this to be true. I have to stay, to believe she will return. And I promised her to look after the King, even before I promised him. I am his only hope. I cannot abandon him. So many have already left him. He has no one left here on whom he can rely."

Aranel gripped her shoulders tightly.

"Forgive me for not having the courage to continue as you do." he said.

Míriel only smiled in return. "I do not blame you. Go now, go in safety and haste."

He lingered a moment longer to kiss her forehead before vanishing into the dusk.


	22. The Dinner Proposal

DISCLAIMER: As always, anything recongnizable belongs to Tolkien; everything else is my own. Reviews greatly appreciated!

**The Dinner Proposal**

Innas, accompanying Amorith, travelled with his company all through the night. They moved swiftly through the forest, silent as shadows, avoiding the large camp of Orcs. The Elves made a wide circle around them, not wanting to attract attention to their selves. Innas gave Amorith a black cloak so as to conceal herself properly. She accepted it wordlessly, nodding her thanks. Her fingers were shaking as she drew it about her, placing the mallorn leaf brooch of Lórien above her bosom. The black cloak was traditionally worn by members of the King's royal company and the forces of Dol Guldur. It had been so many years since she had last worn one. The first time she had donned it King Thranduil had gifted it to her. They had just met for their first time after Amorith and Forfirith had arrived in Doriath, not having been there a full month. Evening had set, and there was a cool breeze from the east. Clad in a light dress, she huddled beneath a tree, shivering, hugging herself to keep warm. Forfirith had wandered off, and she could not find Beleg either. Slowly she sipped the wine from her glass, smiling courteously at those who greeted her. She had retreated with her sister into the garden, where there was less of a chance to be bothered by anyone. Their Sindarin was not well enough to be heard without someone asking curiously, if not somewhat impolitely, of their origins. So tonight she hid behind her wine glass, and if anyone asked, she would blame the wine.

"Accursed Middle-earth, this dress would have been fit for a garden festivity at this time of season in Valinor," she whispered quietly under her breath in Quenyan.

A few heads turned in her direction, so quickly she went into a fit of coughs. It lasted a few moments, until at last, when she feared her charade could not be carried out any longer, she stopped. Turning to leave, she found herself face to face with a man. He had a high and noble brow, and his golden hair was braided over his ears. His sapphire eyes shone brightly, even in the dusk. He was dressed in a dark green tunic, woven with intricate silver patterns, and his leggings were a deep maroon, beset by his brown boots. He was not plain of face, and she found herself unable to take her eyes off him. This man was of a proud kingly nature, and she detected from his countenance a will to bend all matters to satisfy his mind alone.

"It would be wise not to attempt the learning of the Quenyan tongue," he said.

Amorith felt herself color slightly.

"It is wise to know the ways of those who would place themselves to be one's enemies." she replied, showing him no regard.

Surprisingly, he smiled, and acknowledged her statement with a nod.

"I am Prince Thranduil." he said, "My home is the green forests of Doriath, with my father, King Oropher. I do not believe we have met before."

Amorith curtsied back to him, replying, "I am Amorith. My sister and I took refuge here; we have lost our parents to Morgoth."

He acknowledged her grief with a silent prayer in Sindarin, which she did not fully understand then, before drawing his cloak and placing it over her shoulders. She was still shivering in the cold breeze. Thranduil had noticed this.

"I thank you, kind sir. But I cannot accept it for fear I will never be able to return this kind favor." Amorith told him, smiling softly, shrugging the cloak off.

He waved her excuse away, saying, "Not all favors are debts to be paid later."

And with a bow, he left her as suddenly as he had appeared before her.

Amorith's reverie ended here, with the first rays of dawn appearing. She closed her eyes, offering her own prayer of thanks. The shadows of Mirkwood were deeper than she had remembered them to be, as Legolas had warned her.

"Dawn has been here for an hour now, but I am afraid this is all the light we shall perceive. The Enemy will soon encompass us in his darkness." Innas said. "We are almost to my camp; I sent a scout ahead of us to alert them of our arrival."

"That is very wise indeed." she said, smiling. "For one can never be certain of what will appear from the midst of this most grievous mist."

Innas looked at her questioningly, yet Amorith only smiled.

When dawn came, it was to find both Thranduil and Míriel strolling just outside the palace gates, near the river. A small company of guards stood nearby, alert and on the lookout for any potential danger. The air was still, the only thing moving was the mist. Thranduil cursed under his breath, he had never seen the mist so thick before. He peered upward, as far as he could, and lamented the time when he could glimpse the sun more readily then than he did now. The Enemy was indeed rising in his power. He prayed fervently that the Fellowship would succeed.

He saw Míriel standing, her gaze lingering past the river and into the woods, south. "There is something stirring beneath the trees of our home." she whispered.

Thranduil placed his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to him. She was warm and soft, clinging to him for strength and comfort.

"When Legolas' mother was bearing him, she also became most sensitive to everything around her. I could not stir from my sleep without waking her." he said, his eyes becoming cloudy. "That year I knew no rest until Legolas was born."

The silver haired maiden laughed, and Thranduil smiled in spite of himself. He blinked his eyes several times to compose himself, and when they had turned back towards the palace gates, there was nothing to betray him.

"What do you say if I were to propose a dinner outside tomorrow?" he asked her.

She stopped, her gaze giving way to fear.

"Would it be safe, my Lord?" she asked.

"Would I ever place you in the direct path of danger?" he said.

"Dol Guldur…" she began, lowering her head to hide her worried face.

"Dol Guldur would have attacked us if there was any intention of doing so a long time ago already. I have sent scouts, and they report that the old enclosure where we have dined so many a night before is clear, that even the spiders are nowhere to be found. We shall be just as safe as we always have been, Míriel."

He lifted her chin up, so that she was forced to look directly into his eyes. There was nothing but honesty in them, and though a part of her warned of much danger in doing so, she allowed herself to believe every word he said. King Thranduil might be ruled by old prejudices on some issues, but when the matter involved his own people his pride would not allow him to spare a single action that would cause them any harm. Despite herself, Míriel found that she was able to trust him, and so she nodded at him, earning a very warm smile, one she had not seen in so long. As they walked into the palace, the King felt he had regained her complete confidence. There was only one thing he had to attend to, and taking her arm in his, he led her through the halls and into his court. The gathered courtiers' voices fell silent as the two entered into the room, the King making his way to his throne. Once he reached his chair, he remained standing while the others seated themselves at his wish. Míriel herself remained standing alongside her King, wondering what was in store.

"I shall be brief," he began. "You were all witness to the events which occurred here last evening. For ill or for worse, I now know where loyalties truly lie. If any of you are in agreement with Aranel, you may join him in his exile. I—Mirkwood—have no need of betrayals and traitors." He waited, and when none moved, he continued. "I know that not all are so brazen as to openly express their views, so this silence does not entirely comfort me. Be warned, therefore, that any suspected of being in the company of Aranel will be exiled. The ban on leisurely travel has been lifted. There is no need to fear Dol Guldur because there will be no attack. Those that believed the lies Aranel spread may rest their minds. In light of this, I ask you all to join me in celebration. We shall dine tomorrow night in the beech grove."

The reaction to his words was hard to discern. A few people nodded their approval, but the majority only gave their silence for answer. There could very well be no threat from Dol Guldur, but the growing darkness and shadow was not to be lightly ignored. Reports reached the palace halls of the spiders' absence from the woods, and they grew anxious. If the spiders themselves, the wretched bane of their home, were fleeing, should not that be worrisome? One courtier managed to voice this one fear to his King, and several others joined in with their concerns as well.

"My dearly beloved people, have I ever placed anyone at harm? Have I ever led you astray?" he asked them, and they shook their heads. "Why would I do it now? You think I do not see your worries, your bent shoulders as you attempt to bear your troubles? Since when have we, the people of Mirkwood, become frightened rabbits, cowering underground? We have never let the shadow and mist of our land trouble us before, why should it suddenly haunt our dreams now? The world is so full of malice and grief; can we not rejoice in life? I know I have been lax in my duties as King of late, let us start afresh. Let us show our enemies we fear them not!"

He ended his speech thusly, taking Míriel by her hand and leading her out. The courtiers stood from their seats as he passed, bowing their heads. Míriel noticed a few still did not feel as warmly about the proposed dinner as she had, although deep inside her she had the same fears, yet for the sake of unity she posed as happily as she could. Some courtiers had tears streaming down their faces, their eyes closed as they offered their thanks to the Valar for returning to them their King. The kingdom had almost given up all hope entirely, and then he had returned to them, if not a little late. Yet it was always better for any return than none at all. The sound of clapping was dull at first, but it grew louder with each step towards the doors. A rousing cry of "Aran Thranduil!" was taken up; King Thranduil had earned redemption in a small fraction of his people's eyes, and this was enough to motivate him further. Míriel knew the dinner would signify a new beginning for him.

Vanimë appeared suddenly beside Thranduil, smiling softly at him. Her gray eyes glanced ever melancholy at Míriel. Olwen and Arquen watched with silence as the Princess wiped away the tears that had begun to stain her fair face.

_I was not present for this moment; I retrieved this memory from Míriel after reaching the palace. She gave it to me with such vividness that I felt as if I had been there myself. Míriel would come back to this moment, this particular instant, many times afterwards in her mind. To her, this was the pivotal time of her life, the one step that would rule the remainder of her existence. When she had enclosed it so perfectly in her mind, it was to preserve this precious experience. It was so that when she had questions, doubts, concerns, she could go back in her mind's eye and find all those answers that she desperately sought to soothe her soul. What could she have wanted to preserve so vividly except for one thing—love?_

_Love, the bane of every Elf and Man. It drives us to the edge of insanity. All the children of Eru are helpless once their hearts become bound to another. We lose our reason, our judgment, and sometimes even our ability to think clearly. Some are fortunate in that they retain their senses, yet most are not. We become as crazed animals, howling in the night out of loneliness, crying at the sight of whom we love. None are spared who are touched by the hand of love._

_Míriel was bound to love her heart away. First most there was her King, the proud and defiant Thranduil, who ruled his kingdom with such passion and devotion. His heart was of gold, even when his manners seemed as cold as stone. Yet she knew he was not evil, though he had many flaws. Innas, her lover, was next, though at times she deemed him more worthy of her love than her King. He had given her life and hope, cared for her more than he cared for his own self. Together they had grown, and though she had not always seen him as she did now, he was ever her protector from afar. And finally, there was myself, Amorith, or Vanimë, as she preferred to call me. Her own mother having died, she regarded me as such, and for my part I treated her as such. She had been the first whom I shared my true identity with, and she had accepted me without question. I had taught her many things during my time in Mirkwood, and she had been an eager learner. And when I had been exiled, she never forgave her King for such a deed, even though she loved him. From then, her love of her King was second to her love of me, yet at this moment, she confessed to me later, her King regained his rightful place once more._

_My silver-haired maiden was bound to love, and from this came her trouble. The dinner meant she would break her promise with at least one, and this would test her love of them. Time and distance, however, played equal roles in her judgment. She had begun to despair that I would ever return to Mirkwood at all. Her belief in me was her strength, and it was waning in the return of her King. She felt some resentment towards me for abandoning her; she had always hoped I would send for her, relieve her of the burden of her King, to come away with me and dwell by my side. She knew had I been present I would have told her not to go to the dinner, yet she felt herself rebelling against me, and against Innas, whom she knew would be of my opinion. This rebellion made her feel free, light, and she embraced it. For once, she would do as she wanted, not as she was told. She would follow her heart._

Vanimë lifted her head, a half smile on her lips. She stroked the face of Thranduil and hugged Míriel. These were two of the dearest people in her life, two of the most painful loves she had ever encountered. And when they loved, they left their hearts unattended, open to all possibility of pain and suffering.

'_And when you love so freely and passionately, you must accept severe pain.' _


	23. Into the Darkness

DISCLAIMER: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien, the rest is my creation. I was away on vacation, apologies for no new chapter in about a week. As a reminder, the italicized paragraphs are Amorith's narrative.

**Into the Darkness**

The walk through the forest appeared endless to Amorith. Perhaps it was the dread of the unknown once she reached her intended destination, or perhaps it was the twilight that now reigned over this land. Her shoulder had begun to ache again, and now there was a slight numbness throughout her body. Her head felt heavy, and it seemed quite the effort for her to keep it raised. She was aware that her skin was now a grayish hue. She hid her alarm from Innas, forcing a smile which she did not feel upon her face. They were less than an hour's walk from the camp, and those words had never seemed so sweet to her before. She felt her spirits rise slightly as she hastened to quicken her steps. She managed to reach Innas' side and keep pace with him. His men were silent as they walked ahead of them, on the lookout.

"This silence is maddening. And have you noticed something lacking?" Innas said.

Amorith shook her head.

"The spiders—there has not been a single encounter with one for some time now. The usual way of matters is to find this part of the forest filled with the pestilent creatures, but for a long time now there are none to be seen anywhere. I have even sent trackers after them, and their trails led to their homes. It seems as if something is disturbing them and they hide."

Amorith listened to this news silently.

"You speak the truth, for the closer to Dol Guldur one is, the more numerous these spiders become." she said. "What does Thranduil think of this?"

Innas gave her a glance that made her regret her question.

"He thinks nothing of the matter. He says there is nothing to fear." Innas replied.

"This is serious. To hear tidings such as this would usually put him on his guard, not elicit a response such as the one you describe. How long has he been this way?"

"Once he exiled you, his judgment and rule of the kingdom declined. It seems he could not believe in anything any longer, and so he withdrew from everything he had once been. It was subtle at first, but gradually as the years passed it became noticeable that the King was very different. Your exile became the major source of separation between himself and the Prince. Even my father, counselor Aranel, once his most trusted advisor, has now become his sole nemesis at court. King Thranduil believes that my father is in league with you, and that you came to Mirkwood only to take his rule. He prides himself on throwing you out, on discovering your secret."

Amorith pursed her lips, her mind turning over this information. She found herself caught between the prejudices of old, and her own pride. A small laugh escaped her, and she said in reply, "But he did not discover this on his own. What merit can he give to that? I divulged this to him myself, the eve of our announcement."

Innas shook his head, saying, "He has convinced those who will readily believe him that he had employed a member of his guard to watch your every move, a spy. He has told us on numerous occasions that he worked hard and long to uncover the truth of your identity, that he had always been suspicious of you."

"I do not doubt that he always had a curiosity, even suspicion, regarding me, but I never imagined that he would slander me with such lies as these."

She stopped to wipe her face, and Innas placed his hand on her arm.

"It is my observation that deep love, when sundered, causes much pain. The love then turns into blinding hate and fury out of response to the violent separation."

Amorith turned with a small smile on her lips.

"Innas, your silence has ever frightened me. I would see you as you sat by silently, taking in everything around you but saying nothing. You have proved to be a very formidable person, yet very wise. Aranel must be quite proud of you."

Innas bowed, saying, "You may ask him yourself when you see him, my Lady."

The Noldo Princess laughed, and Innas felt his spirits rise. Whatever would happen, this laugh would carry him through. He felt his burdens lessened.

"Come, my dearest Innas, let us hasten, for the others left us behind." she said.

Míriel felt as if her life was much sweeter, that order in her world had finally been restored. King Thranduil had woken from his slumber to lead his people once more. The kingdom had been in shambles for so long now, the people weary of their King and unable to survive on their own. The division in the court had occurred long ago, and some had even despaired of their home ever being saved that they fled, either to Imladris or to the Grey Havens. The people neither feared the spiders nor the presence of Dol Guldur; the only thing they feared was being without their King. Had their Prince stayed on and not joined the Fellowship, he undoubtedly would have taken the place of his father for awhile, but he was gone now, perhaps never to return. The King had returned now, and all would be well, she reassured herself.

"The King has returned!" was all Míriel could hear as she made her way through the halls. "We are to dine amongst the beech trees tonight!"

She smiled back at every announcement of this news, replying with: "Indeed what a joy it will be to breathe the fresh air outside, to dine as we used to so freely."

Míriel found herself in her chambers, with the smile still upon her face, but an aching in her head and belly. She beckoned to her maid to close the door and douse the candles. Lying on her bed, she closed her eyes, trying to alleviate her pain. The maid busied herself trying to make her comfortable, but Míriel waved her away, saying, "I need to rest for an hour. You may leave me."

"Is it the child?" the maid asked.

"No, I am just weary. All this excitement about the dinner wore my nerves."

"Ah, but of course, who would not be excited about this news? I have been restless myself since the ban on leaving the palace. I was raised north of here and was always amongst the trees. When the spiders became too numerous, I came here with my family seeking refuge. I do miss the freedom of the wild."

Míriel looked at her, patted her hands softly, and told her: "Soon you will enjoy that freedom once more. I relieve you of your duties to tend to me for the remainder of the day, except I will need you to help me in preparing for tonight. I will be well, do not fear for me. Go and ready yourself."

The maid thanked her before hurrying out of the chamber. Míriel gently rested her head on her pillows, closing her eyes again. Her mind was roving over the decision she had made and was prepared to carry out—dining with her King this evening. There was a warning in her heart she could not explain. She rationalized that it was due to her guilty conscious that she had so lightly and readily given up on Amorith after earnestly trusting in her. After allowing Amorith to reign so heavily in her heart and mind, she had thrown her away suddenly without so much as a second thought. But in doing so Míriel had felt herself liberated, freed, and she embraced this feeling very willingly. Not only had she betrayed Amorith, but Innas as well. After promising him she would never leave the palace halls, she intended on doing just that tonight. She felt that Amorith would be of the same mind as well regarding this venture. Her guilt turned to anger as the voices of Amorith and Innas filled her head with warning, and pressing her hands against her head, she cried out, "No, no more! For too long I have allowed others to lead me through my days, consenting to their every whim and desire! Am I not a free lady? I shall be the mistress of my own mind, and take my own counsel as to my actions. I refuse to let hollow words of old rule my fears and curb my senses. I will be respected for my actions."

And in this way Míriel managed to subdue her internal warring, and find her peace at last. She remained in her chamber for the remainder of the day, leaving only when King Thranduil sent for her to accompany him for the dinner. She emerged, head held up high in pride, matching her King's countenance.

"You are stunning tonight. I fear I will have to ward off many ill looks." he said.

Míriel laughed liltingly, and it pleased the King to hear this.

"It is so long since I have heard your laughter." he commented.

She smiled at him as he helped her astride her horse, a beautiful brown stallion, which she vaguely recalled as having been Amorith's favorite. Horses had been brought into Mirkwood after Amorith had taken up residence. There were not many horses, only enough for the royal assemblage and those that were used for urgent business travels. The animals did not favor the environment of Mirkwood, and so the number Amorith was able to bring was limited. For this occasion, however, the King had asked for all the horses to be groomed and brought out. The feast had been prepared and set out in the grove, and as the King gazed at his people who had come to join him in the festivities, he felt as if nothing had ever changed in his kingdom, that all the days he had ever spent in sorrow and anger were merely a nightmare. Nodding to his servants, the trumpets were blown, and a great cheerful cry arose. The gates were opened, and the King led his people confidently along the path, hearts full of mirth and song. They stopped only briefly at the edge of the mist, before their King led them into the darkness of the night.

Amorith felt the wind whip her hair behind her as she rode. Beneath her, she saw Innas and his men spread out, gazing in disbelief at what was occurring. Maeglin flew alongside her, his sharp eyes focused ahead, where there was an impenetrable darkness which none could see through. It had been increasing steadily for the past few hours, and now it loomed massively in their path. The Mirkwood Elves felt that it was not natural, and they spoke of the rumors of the Shadow of the Enemy that was spreading across the whole of Middle-earth, and their hearts quacked. She had hoped that it was her sight, which had slowly become hazy, playing tricks on her. Yet in her heart, she knew that it was not, and her denial to accept the reality that faced her was wavering. She caught Innas' observant look, and she smiled, despite her rising fear. The poison had spread severely now; she was greatly weakened. It took much effort on her part to remain alert. The cloak Innas gave her she had wrapped tightly around her to dispel the cold she felt. She knew from seeing others who were poisoned, that once they felt the cold seeping through them, it was not long before their spirits went unto the Halls of Mandos. Time was running short to deliver her message to Thranduil. She felt she would not survive. Quietly, she urged her bearer to fly faster, and the giant eagle, Gwaihir, responded. With as much courage as she could muster, Amorith let herself be enveloped by the darkness.

_It is a wonder that Gwaihir responded to my desperate plea for assistance. I was in awe that I had the honor to be graced with his appearance. When I sent Maeglin to find him, merely because I knew of no other way I would be able to reach the court of Thranduil with the limited time I had, I dared not hope that my plea be answered for several reasons. Time, indisputably, was the first reason. My knowledge of the eagles was that they dwelled in the northern Misty Mountains, and had long ago helped Elves, and even Dwarves. They fought alongside us in battles. In the First Age, they were messengers of __Manwë, said to have been sent by him to bring news of Middle-earth, and to aid the Exiled Noldor in only the direst of circumstances.__ Maeglin, I feared, would not reach their nests in time. He was not as swift a flier as they were.__Yet if he managed to contact them, they would be welcomed allies, and would carry us to Thranduil's court within two days' worth of continuous flight. That was, if they consented to helping me, which was my main cause of worry. I did not have any pretense that they would help me, bearing in mind fully that it was my kin who had caused so much past grief. My one solace, my one prayer, was that the Valar, and Eru, would accept my strife, accept my redemption by allowing me to succeed and bring news of Thranduil's assistance back to Lórien. I prayed fervently, ever since sending Maeglin to find Gwaihir, that my intentions were pure, that my task would be considered a dire circumstance, and assistance obtained. _

_To have come upon Innas' camp at last, exhausted, weary, drained of all hope and courage, indeed almost on the brink of utter despair, to have found the camp astir, his men excited—that my prayers had been answered, that Gwaihir stood before me, with a host of his people, informing me that he had been ordered to assist—I remember falling to the ground in an ungraceful manner, tears streaming down my face. I was not listening as the great eagle spoke of the evil he had seen stirring north, of the assault on Lórien that had been quelled despite horrendous losses, none of what he said that the others listened to readily passed to my ears. I simply lay on the ground, feeling my tears moisten my face, as I knew that I would be saved, that the exile I had always feared was not my bane, that the doom of my kin would not pass unto me. My salvation was bound to the successful persuasion of King Thranduil to help the Golden Wood, and in that I knew I would receive no help. I had been given all the aid I was deemed to acquire, and now I would be the one who had to find a way of completing my task alone, even if it meant my death. _

_Even as we flew along at a great speed, I began to accept that my end was nigh at hand. Either by the poison laying waste to my body and senses, or by Thranduil's wrath, I was certain that this journey would determine my final days. I knew then I would not be surprised if I survived this journey and found myself at Thranduil's gate, that there would be orders to imprison me, or even to kill me. I was not afraid, for I knew that I would be counted amongst the blessed when I left this world, that all my deeds would be atoned. I would fight, with my dying breath, for the Golden Wood to be saved, to be redeemed. I would not leave this world without looking once more into Thranduil's cold sapphire eyes, and know his final judgment. My salvation gave me renewed courage, new strength, and as we descended into the darkness, the only thing I feared then was the fierceness of my temper, the severity of my wrath. I knew then when we arrived, that I, __Vanimë, would return._


	24. Pride and Prejudice

NOTE AND DISCLAIMER: I own everything except those recognizable elements, they belong to Tolkien. I have been very sick this last week, sorry for the lateness of the chapter. Enjoy.****

Pride and Prejudice

The party followed King Thranduil along the winding path through the trees, their voices at first quiet in song. Unsure of whether they dared to truly believe what their King professed—that their woodland home held no dangers, that they were all safe—their wary eyes were darting back and forth. Yet with every step they took revealing that there was nothing hiding in the shadows before them, they became bolder in their song, and what had first started as a whispered ballad at the palace gates became a joyful chorus of song. Even Míriel found herself caught up in the moment, and her sweet voice rose to join the others'. After a few moments the King delighted his people by leading them in the next song, and so the merry company travelled in this fashion until they arrived at the beech grove. There, armed guards helped the King and Míriel from their steeds. Taking the maiden's hand, the King led the party into the beech grove itself. It had been decorated for the occasion, with wreaths and banners. Silk ribbons in all different shades were strung through the branches. And at the very head of the table was the King's carved oak throne. Beside it was Amorith's seat, which had not been moved. He bade Míriel to sit beside him, saying, "I will be honored if you sit next to me". Míriel bowed in reply, and after he had seated himself, she produced the crown he always wore when dining in the grove. It was made of green leaves, and entwined with red berries. When she placed it atop his head, the maiden could not help but gaze at the handsomeness of his face, and she averted her gaze. Once the dinner party had all been seated, the King rose to his feet, with his goblet of wine in hand. Raising his drink, he proclaimed a toast, "To our home, Greenwood the Great!", as the platters of food were uncovered and the feast began.

Thranduil presided over the dinner party proudly, observing how everyone was at apparent ease. Whatever fears they might have had previously were not present any longer. It felt so good to him to return to this beloved place of his, where he had spent many such nights feasting and merrymaking into the early hours of dawn. As he sat back in his chair, the wine soothing his senses, contemplating in great joy the scene before him, he found his thoughts roving on Amorith. He had not thought about her for a few days, and even now when he thought about her, it was not in anger, but in pride. True, there was a small amount of longing for her, but he would not allow her treacherous memories to taint this night. She had tried to wrest the kingdom from him, steal his people's loyalties away, and corrupt their minds with false and evil lies—and failed. And those few allies she had made were now banished as she was. Let the coming days be witness to his glory and victory, that he, Thranduil, Sindarin King, had defeated the Noldo threat at long last.

For two and a half days, including their nights, Amorith rode astride Gwaihir. Innas and his men were spread out below her, on eagles loyal to Gwaihir. They stopped a few times to stretch their legs, and to quell their hunger and thirst. Her exhaustion had become apparent to Innas, and when he questioned her, she dismissed his worries, attributing her weakened state to the travel. He did not appear satisfied with this reply, but he did not press the matter. He had one of his men redress her shoulder, and by the nature of his glances, Innas reasoned that the poison had spread and would soon be beyond even the greatest healers' capabilities, if it was not already so. Taking the man aside, he asked him, in a barely audible voice, "What do you say of her wound? How severely is she affected by the poison?"

The Elf shook his head, sighing. "I hope we do not arrive at the palace as a funeral procession. Only the Valar's grace and her own strength can save her."

Innas thanked him, and making his way to Amorith, he said, "I know you conceal the grim nature of your health. Allow me to ride with you."

She nodded weakly, consenting to his wish. He helped her unto Gwaihir, and when they were securely positioned, the host of eagles took off into the air. Amorith lay motionless, her breathing shallow. Innas felt fear creeping into his heart. Taking her gray cold hand, he pressed it to his lips, weeping bitterly.

"Tell me, Innas, have you any hope of my success?" she whispered.

"I think that you need to rest, my Lady." he replied.

"It is as I knew; my endeavor is one of folly. He will never listen."

She smiled, laying her head back down on Gwaihir's soft back. Innas turned his face away, letting his tears fall freely. He would not let Amorith die so long as he lived. She was necessary for the survival of the Elves. That much he now knew. Gwaihir had confirmed himself that the Orcs that attacked the Golden Wood had come from Dol Guldur, and Thranduil would not be able to refute his word. Innas knew that the battle, the real battle for Mirkwood and Lórien, would be fought in the court of Thranduil. There was none who equaled Thranduil in his pride than Amorith, she who had dwelt with him, and made this land so much the fairer. She had fought alongside his King in many battles defending Mirkwood. She was no traitor, and though the blood of the Kinslayers coursed through her veins, Amorith was not of them. Nothing but pride and prejudice deterred her from Thranduil.

"Gwaihir, how much longer? For I fear Lady Amorith will not survive." Innas asked.

"We should be there in dawns' time. We must arrive before the army."

Innas' spirits sunk. Dol Guldur was moving to attack the palace of Thranduil.

The warning had been too late; the dinner was ambushed. In one sudden instant, the joyful singing had become cries of lament and woe. The minstrels abandoned their instruments hastily, joining the wild throng attempting to escape. The grand table was overturned and propped on its side. The archers and guards were using it to shield themselves, and some of his people sought refuge there as well. His own personal guards rushed to his side, urging him to hide beneath their broad bodies, as they hurried him along. Thranduil found he was numb to everything around him. He had no will of his own left. He had led his people here to dine, but instead they had become easy prey. His eyes were blinded by tears, his ears overwhelmed between the screams of his people as they fell, and the harsh cries of the Orcs. It was too much to bear. He allowed himself to be led to safety by his guards, and once they secured the area, they ran back into the grove. Thranduil looked around him, at the fair faces of those who had been able to escape, and was unable to hold their grim stares for long. He turned his face away, biting back the weakness that was now threatening to spill like a flood. That was when he remembered Míriel.

"Has anyone seen Míriel?" he asked hoarsely.

The gathered crowd shook their heads. He cursed under his breath, and going around to his horse, he took his bow and quiver of arrows he concealed there.

"Go now to the palace; the woods are not safe," he said to them.

He ignored the pleas of his people, and made his way back into the grove. It was now desolate, save for the bodies of the fallen. The ambush had now moved on into the trees, but Thranduil did not go there. Instead, he set his mind on finding Míriel. Last he had seen her she had been standing on the eastern side of the grove. His heart was racing, as he remembered that she was with child. He moved swiftly now, his eyes grazing the ground below him for anything that would lead him to her. About twenty feet from the grove, he found her cloak, shredded into pieces. Míriel must have attempted to escape, but was thwarted. He continued on, pushing his way roughly through tree branches and the thick undergrowth. The cries of the skirmish diminished as he moved away, but his own internal cries plagued him. He had been gravely mistaken, thinking that Dol Guldur would not attack. He had seen the shadows grow, the mist deepen. Deep within him, Thranduil had known it was only a matter of time before his people would be assaulted. He had tried convincing himself that his people were strong, his court united, his own rule sound, but it was all to mask his growing doubts and weaknesses. Even though he openly refuted the reports of Innas and others, and Aranel's advice, the King had sent his own spies that he trusted to gather information. They had brought him the same news. His accusation that Amorith was undermining him was hollow; he knew her better than to truly believe she would behave so. As horrific as the deeds of the Noldor were in the First Age, they hated Sauron perhaps more than all the Free People of Middle-earth, for his liege was Morgoth, and he had been the cause of the Silmarils' loss. Thranduil had been conniving, attempting to persuade his people that Amorith was the culprit when he was the one who had not the strength to lead them.

He continued on in silence, his hope of finding her diminishing with each step he took. After an hour, he circled back, burying his golden head in her cloak. Míriel was gone. He fell to his knees in a small clearing, pouring his anguish into a howl. And then he had found her, lying behind a shrub, her clothing ripped off her body, the scars still bleeding afresh. She was face down, whimpering softly. Thranduil crawled toward her, and as he neared her, he saw the glint of something silver in her hand. With a cry, he lunged at her hand and stopped her from plunging the dagger into herself. She stiffened as she recognized who had found her.

"Do not look at me, just leave me here. It would be most merciful." she said.

Thranduil then saw the trail of blood leading from her innermost areas, and the realization of what had occurred to her, her defilement at the hands of the Orcs, made him heave. He threw his cloak over her body, wrapping her tenderly.

"They thought I was your Queen, they thought I was Amorith." she whispered. "They wanted to shame you, to hurt you the deepest."

"You are queen of Mirkwood, you are much more than Amorith ever was to me." he replied, as he buried his head in her. "You remained loyal to me, and I failed you."

Míriel shook her head, smiling. "I was not always loyal to you. Amorith made me promise I would watch over you, even when my soul was broken because of your exile of her. My love for Amorith surpassed my love for you, but of late, you have regained your title of king of my heart. I will never be what Amorith was to you; you know this to be true. You need her, Mirkwood needs her."

Thranduil did not reply. He whispered to her soothingly, stroking her brow. When she was resting, the King rose to his feet as gently as he could. He began the long walk back to his palace. The King knew then how rashly he had acted, how his own pride had been the downfall, how his prejudices had blinded him. And it had taken Míriel as payment for him to realize this. What words of comfort could he now say to ease the hurt of his people? No, he was unfit for their rule. He was not King. All night he thought about this, until at last, when he reached the gates of his palace, he was resolved to absolve himself from the rule of his beloved Mirkwood.

Before him stood Innas with his company of men, they were as still as stone, and just as silent. Behind them was a host of giant eagles. Thranduil had heard of them. Occasionally, on northward travels Thranduil had caught sight of them from afar, as they soared high above the earth, but never had he seen them this closely. The King found himself rooted to the ground, forgetting that poor Míriel lay in his arms, unable to move or even speak. On either side of Innas, fanning across the banks of the river, his people watched with dismal faces, all clad in black. They had come to mourn his death. After having awaited his arrival all night, they had deemed him dead. They all carried wreaths of green leaves, bound with red berries, replicas of his crown. He envisioned them, as they threw their wreaths, one by one, into the river. Would they have even lamented his loss? Or would they have been relieved?

Innas was the first to break the silence. "Welcome back, aran nín."

He bowed low, and the crowds did the same.

King Thranduil moved forward, keeping his eyes cast on Míriel. The gathered entourage followed behind him slowly, and the entire procession made its way silently through the halls, following their King. Not a word was spoken until they reached the chambers of the healers, where Thranduil laid Míriel gently down on a bed. Innas came from behind him then, clasping her hands and weeping softly.

"Oh my darling Míriel, your wish has come true, Amorith has returned!"

King Thranduil locked himself in Amorith's old chambers, dismissing the guards. He wanted to be completely isolated. There was too much grief and confusion that would betray his dismal state of mind. He was torn over the events of the previous night. The dinner, which was meant to be the epic return of his rule, was no more than an epitome of what he was now—false and hollow. Everything he ever stood for, everything he knew, was now lost. His people, numbed by shock, would soon want answers. And what would he tell them that they did not already know? How could he stand before them, and redeem his misdeeds by apologizing? His words would not bring back their beloved ones. Apologies could never be payment for the sacrifice of the previous night. For that is what had occurred—his people, his dear people, had paid for their King's prideful prejudice and folly with their own lives. He had dared them to lay aside their instinct and the warnings of their heart, to douse their clean hearts with the malice of his own heart. He had allowed himself to be blinded by the pride and prejudice of old, when he knew that nothing but grief would be the price. In rekindling those ancient wounds, Thranduil had caused the seeds of mistrust and deceit to blossom in his own heart and poison his mind. He had known Amorith was not as he claimed she was, but he could not admit this. He could never admit that his pride, his prejudice, had been his downfall. Pride was all Thranduil had left now. He had pushed away all those who had ever stood at his side, those who had truly loved him and been loyal to him. His father, Oropher, once told him that pride was the one sin that could never be absolved. It would bury itself so deeply in one's soul that it could never be removed. Only the deepest of pain and remorse would satisfy the soul of its worthiness. Pride, he knew, was what made the Noldor defy the Valar, and pride was what led them into chaos.

But he was not Noldo, he was Sindarin, and while there was pride in the Sindar, there was also wisdom. They had learned the wrongs of the fallen Noldor, and they had vowed to never repeat the same mistake. That was what had made Elu Thingol so great, that was why Doriath was the fairest Elven land in all the Ages of Middle-earth. Every Sindarin king took the oath to never let pride blind them. His own father had made him promise that very same oath, when he had been just a Prince himself. King Oropher knew the temper of his son, and he feared for him. Thranduil had dwelt in Doriath with Elu Thingol, and while the Noldor were allowed to dwell there, they had to abandon their Quenyan tongue for Sindarin. Oropher knew the unrest that stirred within the breast of his son. His pride was too much.

For the remainder of the day, Thranduil remained in Amorith's chambers. No one disturbed him. He wept bitterly for everything he repented of, wishing that the Valar would strike him dead. But he knew this would not happen. If he truly wanted his redemption, he would have to right every wrong he had done. Dismay filled his heart as he realized how great Legolas' disappointment and grief would be when he returned; his son would see that he would suffer for the great loss he caused. Thranduil knew then he would never be what he truly aspired to be, the living embodiment of Elu Thingol. Only the most pure of heart could ever be that noble.

And Thranduil was tainted with his pride.


	25. Despair and Failure

DISCLAIMER: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien; the rest is mine. I am getting ready to travel overseas in a few days, where internet connection is spotty. So bear with me as I upload the new chapters. Reviews gladly welcome, and as always, enjoy!

**Despair and Failure**

Amorith awoke to find that she was lying on a soft bed of white. The light filtering through the window was blinding her, and she lifted her hand to shield her eyes. There was a wooden divider separating her from the remainder of the room. Slowly she placed her feet on the ground, raising herself until she was standing. Feet shaking at first, Amorith steadied herself enough to take a few steps forward. She was clad in soft orange, her shoulder dressed with fresh bandages. The pale grayish hue of her skin was lessened, and the cold she had felt was gone. She knew she was safe, that they had reached the palace. Her last memory was that of Innas sitting beside her astride Gwaihir, holding her hands to his lips as he beseeched the Valar to save her. Amorith knew she had lost consciousness after that, but not for how long. Her hand stretched out to the divider, and the sound of whispering voices reached her ears. Hurriedly she pulled it back. The scene that lay before her was appalling. Míriel, her beloved Míriel, lay on a bed behind the divider. Her fair face was riddled with cruel scars. A maid stood at the foot of the bed, covering her head with her hands. Innas lay next to the head of the bed, as the healer attending the maiden finished her sentence to Innas, who responded with a loud wail. Amorith dismissed the healer and the maid with a wave of her hand. No one else was present in the large room, which she recognized as reserved only for those of the royal assembly. Amorith found herself wondering, briefly, how Thranduil had allowed her to be placed here. But this thought was instantaneous, as she sought to comfort the distraught Innas, who lay now on the floor in a wretched heap.

"It was an ambush at the dinner. She was taken…"

Innas' voice, broken with torment, quacked as he told her what befell Míriel.

"He found her…she wanted to end her life…they had defiled her…she was the only one who had been treated such, degraded so very cruelly…"

Amorith closed her gray eyes even as her tears spilled down her face.

Innas shook his head. "They dined outside, amongst the beech trees."

"The beech grove? Even knowing the danger that posed?"

"He did not believe there was any danger. He dismissed it as treacherous lies of your doing. He wanted to prove it, and so he ordered a dinner to be had."

Innas was shaking, visibly unable to control himself. The usual stern demeanor was replaced with a countenance of woefulness and suffering. Amorith felt herself humbled.

"Innas, tell me all that you know," she beseeched him gently, her hand upon his arm.

"We arrived at the palace several hours before dawn. The palace was in uproar, people were roaming the halls, dispirited, distraught. Those wounded gravely were being tended in the corridors, families who lost loved ones sought solace in each other's arms. I do not know how you and I were able to pass through the gates, since we have both been banished, for you know better than me that the gates, magically endowed, admit only those whom the King deems to bear him no ill will. I was able to learn what befell the dinner party from one of the guards who had been present. Thranduil had announced a dinner in honor of his lifting the ban on pleasurably travel within the realm. This occurred after my father willingly left for Imladris, following the King's blatant refusal to listen to his words: that Dol Guldur would attack, and that you had no part in it. He was called a traitor and humiliated in the court. At any rate, Thranduil announced the dinner, and managed to convince the people of its appeal. They went, thinking him correct, overjoyed that their King had awoken from his slumber. And then they were attacked, and all the glory of the King came crashing down around him. The guards informed me after inspecting the Orcs they slew, that they were indeed from Dol Guldur and were lightly armed. They believe the Orcs were a scouting excursion. One of the accursed creatures, when forced, told of a large army approaching, and not far behind them. It is believed by noon tomorrow they will be here.

"Thranduil had disappeared looking for Míriel. His personal guards searched for him but to no avail. Fearing the worst had happened, they returned to the palace with even more heavy news to report. The people, refusing to accept this, kept watch all through the night and into dawn. When he did come at last, it was with Míriel in his arms, and the most broken look on his face. He spoke not one word and has since been absent from court. The people await him, so they may properly mourn the loss of their beloved ones."

The Noldo Princess was silent. She saw Innas hesitate.

"She was with my child…What suffering she endured in my absence I know not, we had only bonded but not announced our union, which I would have done in the tradition of the Silvan way, the following morning, had I not been forced to leave. I have shamed and cursed her. And now she pays, and the child—our child was lost…How can I ever repent of such a calamity?"

Amorith was still, trying to absorb the shock of this most unexpected news. None of it could be true, it was all a nightmare, a twisted dream come to haunt her now that she was awake and healing from being poisoned. Her breathing became quite erratic and spontaneous as she felt herself descend into a state of hysterics. Innas backed away as she approached, crawling on her stomach, to where Míriel's silver head lay still upon the pillow. The Noldo Princess' hands found the face of her dear maiden, and she wept bitterly, feeling the scars beneath her fingertips. Míriel was not dead, only resting, undoubtedly due to a draught the healers gave her. Her body needed time to convalesce from the assault, resulting in the loss from her womb. How long, if at all, till she would wake, Amorith did not know. She turned her face to Innas, who looked quite frightened, unsure of the direction of her anger.

"I did not mean for her to carry her child without me, if only I had known, I would have returned. I love her immensely, I would have never abandoned her." he said quickly, tears of remorse streaming down his face. "You must believe me!"

Amorith smiled weakly, nodding, saying, "I believe you Innas. I am not angry at you, but rather at myself. I know why she did this. It is all my own doing."

Innas lifted his head, bewilderment on his face. "The child, because of you?"

"I do not doubt she loves you. She would not have consented to that if she did not believe in it herself. Fear not, Innas, for she does love you. Her current state is my doing because Míriel began to lose her hope in me, her love I may have now lost. She was always with me when I was here in Mirkwood, and I had told her that she would always stay by my side, that I would look after her always. When I left Mirkwood, I told her to look after her King, made her promise she would do this, not for herself, but for me. I made her believe she thought it her own desire to do this. I wanted a distraction for her, so she would not remember the promise I had made to her, of my looking after her always. Of course, in the beginning, with her hatred of Thranduil so fresh, she focused her energies on loathing him and quelling my turmoil. How often were her letters to me then! Yet as the days passed into years, then into centuries, her hate began to cool, and her hope of me returning waned. The letters lessened of course, as did the sentiments of longing. She wrote of her duty as court minstrel, of what I thought of the Golden Wood as my new abode. Then for awhile I heard nothing from her, until the day you rescued me. She had sent me that letter of warning with Maeglin."

Innas now was the one who held the silence. He did not know what to make of this; Míriel would never have felt this way. He would not believe what Amorith just said.

Melancholy the Noldo Princess, replied, and he knew she had read his thoughts, "I do not blame her at all. You do not know what it is like to be an elleth bidden to do as commanded, having no will of your own, always repeating the thoughts placed into your mind. If not repeating them, then at the very least forced to live under their constraint. I was very selfish to have expected Míriel to carry out such a burden: to care for the one who inadvertently caused her much pain. Not directly, as he exiled only me, but this one act of his sundered her from me forever—and that is what she will not forgive me for, that I did not have the courage to bring her with me, ordering her to watch him in my stead just as I would have. That is her pain. Since I did not return to her, nor send for her, her love and attention turned to the one who was now a constant in her life, Thranduil. Starved of affection, she turned towards the one who bestowed it upon her so lavishly. Perhaps this solitary occurrence proves Thranduil's accusations regarding me—I bear evil."

But Innas refused this, shaking his head, "You are not evil, Amorith. You may have descended from a troubled house, but you are not evil. And do not blame yourself for all of this, though it could be that there is some truth to what you say. Míriel had made her own choice, and no one made her go to the dinner, even if as you say she had some reason or motivation. I will not allow you to take blame wholly, if any at all. When she wakens then we shall know."

"If you refuse to accept this, then I too shall refuse that this is your doing."

Innas managed a small smile, and Amorith responded in kind. Reaching a hand to both the younger Elves, Amorith whispered quietly, "I am back, for ill or better." Then she rose, wiping her face hastily, controlling herself. Outside in the hallway, she felt the presence of Thranduil, and knew he was approaching. Hurriedly she threw on her cloak, opened the door quietly, and vanished after checking the vicinity. Innas called after her, but she was already gone. There was no one left to comfort him, and so he remained with Míriel, remorse his only companion now. Several minutes later, the King stood on the threshold, staring at Míriel. He nodded at Innas.

"Where is she?" Thranduil asked, noticing the empty bed beyond.

"She left, to I know not where." Innas answered.

"Has Míriel wakened?"

The shake of Innas' head confirmed his fear. Turning to leave, he said, "I am truly sorry," before vanishing himself as Amorith had done only moments before.

The news of the dinner and ambush, especially of Míriel's plight, pained Amorith beyond all words. She could not find tears enough to shed. Grievous it was that the King had dared such a venture with the presence of Dol Guldur's great evil. One question that haunted her most was why Míriel had been the only maiden to be assaulted? Why had the Orcs singled her out? They must have come upon the dinner, and no doubt had spied on the unsuspecting Elves; Míriel would have been with the King. What quality made her particularly desirable to them? Thranduil, refuting Dol Guldur's threat, led his people unknowingly into a massacre. Amorith was certain he did not know—or his refusing to believe—that an army had been prepared to lay siege to his palace. He would never have been this careless with his peoples' lives otherwise. She recalled Innas telling her of the King's absence from court, of the rights not being honored at all to the deceased. It was as if the King had surrendered all hope, relinquished his duties to his people. Rage filled Amorith, rage at the Orcs, rage at the needless death—rage at the King who now cowered. He had abandoned his throne, left the plight of his people alone. He did not care for anything anymore. He had been shamed and humiliated; after most triumphantly proclaiming that Dol Guldur was a lie, his people paid for this act with their lives. And Míriel, she had paid most dearly, perhaps. Amorith could not help but feel she had a hand in this. Ruefully she wished having never come to Mirkwood at all. In this manner her mind raged on, until she felt the heat of her wrath emanating from her. She did not realize where she was headed until she saw the palace gates swing open before her, and an all too familiar woodland path beckoned her.

Amorith let her feet tread the path while her mind turned over the past events that had led her to this moment: her exile from Mirkwood into the Golden Wood, where she had withdrawn into herself; her appointed task of requesting Thranduil's assistance; Innas rescuing her, and the eventual riding of the great Eagles; and then coming into Mirkwood at last, only to find Míriel assaulted and the King absent from his duties. Amorith remembered her feeling of elation, of possible salvation, when Gwaihir came, but now she could only feel despair. What she had thought was her redemption felt now like retribution of her past. She had been borne out of one disaster into another, never finding true peace, disturbing those around her with her tales of woe and pity. Perhaps this was her curse, her own end she had to accept: that she would never rest while she remained alive, that she brought only destruction and death to those she truly loved. It would be better if she died just the same as her kin. She knew then that her task had failed. Thranduil would not send help to her Lord and Lady. His own kingdom was under attack, yet he was doing nothing to defend it, least of all send assistance to a Noldor. He would perish than see his army defend Galadriel's realm. In her anguish, not knowing she was being watched, Amorith sank to the ground, next to the very stone bench from where Thranduil so long ago had exiled her. Thinking herself alone, she let her heart pour out all its misery, weeping her despair aloud.

Thranduil remained silent following her, observing Amorith as she walked, noticing how little she had changed, except for the hardness in her eyes, and the pain she tried to hide in her face. Her beauty was blinding to him, brought out more now because of her grief. It was torment for her to have returned, as it was torment for him. He had imagined, so many times over, going back on his word and returning her to Mirkwood, reliving those sweet memories. Yet always was fresh the painful past, of his fair Doriath having fallen at the hands of her kin, and his vow to never acquaint himself with the Noldor. The outrage, the horror, when she had professed to him that night, in the very spot she now wept in despair, that she was the very person he vowed to hate forever. That it was her kin and blood that had laid waste to his home. How could he forget? He had sworn to take revenge on those who had so mercilessly brought his world to an end. Yet here she was, standing before him, and he could not bring himself to harm her. Thranduil loved her still—that was his weakness. Amorith would always rule his heart. But it did not mean he would allow his heart to rule him. He was still master of his own command.

He watched for awhile longer as Amorith wept continuously, and when he grew weary, he made his way back to the palace, careful to be as swift and silent as he could. He looked back over his shoulder a few times, but Amorith did not seem to have noticed him. Unsure of exactly the reason why, Thranduil felt better knowing that he had not been caught by Amorith in the glade. One reason he knew to be that if she looked at him with her display of grief, he would not have been able to control himself. He could not ignore the fact that seeing her raised his spirits slightly, and he was afraid of his own betrayal, but seeing her torn in such a cruel manner rendered him helpless. There were enough troubles of his own he had to deal with, he did not want the complication of Amorith added. He wondered what had made her weep so much. There was no mistaking the fact that she knew of Míriel's plight. They were treated by the healers in the same chamber together. Upon awakening, she must have seen the maiden. But in her grief he witnessed her bare her deepest anguish, and he wondered what else she was letting spill in her tears. Perhaps she had assumed that when she returned with Innas to the palace, his people would welcome her back, and rally to her call. But his people had their own anguish, troubles of their own. And they would never trust her. Her return at this hour would seem suspicious to them.

He stopped suddenly in his tracks, realizing that he had not allowed for the proper mourning of the dead. The mourners' anguish was increased; their anxieties had heightened, as their beloved ones lay beneath the ground, unblessed, unrecalled. But that was the duty of the King, and Thranduil had made his decision when he carried Míriel's body back to the palace—he had failed as the King of Mirkwood.

Outside, as the trees swayed, Amorith lifted her tear-soaked face. She had come to a decision; she had to let Lady Galadriel know of her failure. Using the language sweetest to her tongue, she cried, in despair, "Forgive me, for I have doomed you."


	26. The Task

DISCLAIMER AND NOTE: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien, the rest is mine. This is Amorith's narrative. I will be leaving for overseas tomorrow so the next chapters to be uploaded will be some time.

**The Task **

_I felt my head fall heavily to the ground, my tears still running down my face. I was sobbing now, fingers clenched into fists, pounding the leaf-laden ground beneath me. I again renewed my cry of shame to Lady Galadriel repeatedly, until I felt myself exhausted, and so I slipped into a state of semi-consciousness, bound by my grief, despair, and shame. My eyes were closed, yet I became aware of a blinding white light surrounding me. I felt relieved by this, and found that I was able to stand without difficulty. Ahead of me, I saw the form of a lady, beckoning with her hands. I followed her, feeling as if I were walking through a tunnel. After some time she vanished, and I hurried along, panic-stricken. I had to find the lady, she would help me; I knew that now. Stumbling forward, my breathing came in sharp intakes. When I felt I could not go on, I fell forward, and with a soft cry found myself lying next to the Mirror. On the opposite side, I saw the Lady Galadriel, and next to her was Forfirith. I stood at once, for it was my sister who I had seen and had been following. The pair was silent as they regarded me._

"_Are we in Lórien?" I asked. "How can it be, when you were attacked?"_

_Lady Galadriel smiled, fixing her gaze on me. Forfirith moved away, seating herself on a hewn tree trunk. She kept her face hidden from me._

"_Our location is of no importance. Yet to answer your question, Lórien was attacked, indeed, but the Orcs did not come to harm Caras Galadhon."_

_I directed my next question at Forfirith._

"_Are you now in Lórien?"_

_Again, the Lady Galadriel answered, "She remains in Fangorn Forest."_

"_Then how can she be here?"_

"_You are in Mirkwood, yet here you are. It does not always necessitate that a person be present physically to be truly present. When you dream, you feel it just as real as if you were awake."_

"_Am I dreaming then?"_

"_Only you will decide that for yourself. You called out for help, and we have answered."_

"_I called out because there is no hope in Thranduil, there never was. I called out because I have _

_failed you, and Lórien will fall because of me. I have failed you most despairingly, shamefully."_

_Fofirith continued staring at her feet, whispering, "You have only failed yourself, then."_

_Lady Galadriel was silent, looking at me desolately._

"_How can you have failed when you said yourself that there was never any hope in Thranduil?"_

_I sat down on the grass, wringing my hands together, shaking my head. I did not understand at all what was occurring. How could this be real, when I knew I was in Mirkwood? I could still smell the musty earth and feel the heaviness of its shadows. And why was Forfirith present? Lady Galadriel's presence was not surprising, but Forfirith, what stake did she have in any of this? _

"_Galadriel, I beg you to release me from my suspense, for I do not think I can tolerate anything more. I am at my wit's end, what with the palace in upheaval, and my __Míriel__—"I said, descending into tears once more. _

_At this, Forfirith softened, saying, "I think it wise to tell her now." _

_Galadriel nodded, solemnly, and into our minds she spoke, in her deliberately slow manner._

"_Forfirith was quite concerned about you, Amorith. She questioned me regularly about your doings, and with what did I have to respond? That you were withdrawn, shut out from the company of others by your own desire, allowing yourself to be swallowed by your grief. Gone were the fierceness of your mind, and the sharpness of your tongue. Gone was the Amorith we all knew, the Amorith who vowed to let nothing stand in her way."_

_The Lady paused, and I glanced sharply at my sister._

"_Is this a trial, to condemn me for something that is beyond my control? Or does Forfirith feel challenged, to have someone become as broody as herself? You do not know the pain I suffer, the misery I face—" I said, seething._

"_It is true we cannot understand the intensity of your pain, but we can understand when we see someone who has allowed it to consume them. Forfirith was frightened, realizing the true extent of your love for Thranduil. But she would not see you turn into her, because that is not your fate. And so she worried about you in agony, thinking of a way to revive you to your true self. As for myself, I knew that the Amorith who dwelled with me now was not the same kinswoman who lived with me with such vivacity in Doriath. It is disheartening when a Noldo despairs, for we are filled with much passion, and whatever course that passion flows, a fire drives us on. I did not wish to see you pass on to the Halls of Mandos, overcome with your grief."_

_I lifted my head, tears glistening in my eyes. I had not known the Lady had observed the intensity of my pain, for it was just as she had described. She was always attending councils, seeing to the affairs of her realm, accompanied by her Lord—why would she bother herself with my misery? Coming to Lórien, I allowed myself to live through my pain, and my pain only. I truly had become what Forfirith was, a recluse from the world, selfishly immersed in my own burdens. _

"_It was known to me for some time that Dol Guldur would in all likeliness launch an attack on us. I was not afraid, for I knew we would vanquish them. We did not know the exact hour. And I knew that Thranduil had known, and I doubted very much he would warn us, and therefore was not surprised when he did not. You Amorith, of all of us perhaps, know the full reasons, but I knew them just the same. His unwillingness to warn us did not trouble me, but the news that the kin of my people were without their King was very concerning, for I also knew that Dol Guldur would not be satisfied until Mirkwood was attacked as well. I took counsel with my Lord, and long we debated what, if anything, we should do. True Thranduil did not care for us, but the same did not necessarily hold true of us, of me." Lady Galadriel continued, pointedly._

"_How can you be so sure that Lórien will not fall?" I asked. "The Orc forces are vast,"_

_At this, the Lady smiled, filling the Mirror with water from the small waterfall cascading behind Forfirith. Galadriel waited until the last silver-clear drop of water fell from the jug she held before replying to the question she had been posed. Forfirith, I noticed, was looking at me with the expression of one who is taken by a sudden astonishment._

"_You amaze me, Amorith, you who pride yourself on knowing the greatest accomplishments of the Elves. Have you truly forgotten what it is that enables me to guard this fair realm from the evils of this world?" Galadriel said, and she lifted back her sleeve from her hand, revealing what lay beneath it, glimmering in the night. "Without Nenya, Lórien would be nothing at all. It has remained unused when the One Ring was with its master. So long as Sauron does not possess his Ring, I may wield mine to ward off his attacks. The Orcs will not be able to overcome the power of Nenya so long as He does not reclaim his Ring. Now, I may unleash my fury on those Orcs. They will come in great hordes, and my Silvan people, with the aid of Nenya, will crush them."_

_I stared at the Lady, who had spoken those words so coldly and with such venom in her voice that I wondered if the Ring had affected her. But looking into Galadriel's azure eyes, I knew that what the Lady said was the truth, that Lórien would indeed be spared._

"_Forgive me, for the matter is rather delicate and secret in nature." I whispered. "You knew all that when you sent me away, why did you send me then?"_

_Forfirith lifted her head, her eyes darting between Galadriel and me._

"_For a great many reasons. You have guessed them yourself, journeying through Mirkwood. You know there are those here who doubt your worthiness; they would gladly claim that your hand joined in the workings of evil. During a time as this, it would not do to have my people divided. So it was decided by Lord Celeborn himself that you would present yourself before Thranduil—"_

"_On a task to ask for his help, help which he would never give us, and most importantly, which is not needed. Was I to be made a mockery, then?"I asked, feeling the heat of my anger._

"_Amorith!" Forfirith cried, attempting to rein my haughtiness._

_I only turned my head away, fighting the urge to scream. I had been made a puppet, a puppet sent on a hollow task to burn for the entertainment of all. They had tired of me in Lórien, so they decided to return me to Mirkwood, only this time I would not return. Had they told Thranduil of this? Was there an exchange of gold or jewels even? Did Haldir know?_

"_I am partially to blame, Forfirith, because the purpose of the task was never told to Amorith, she only implied it to herself," Galadriel said, smiling, and I recalled suddenly the day prior to my departure, meeting with the Lady in her garden after my nightmare, discussing my future, conversing about the war, the discrepancies of old, telling her I agreed to the task…but what had the task been? Galadriel never indicated anything but a way for my redemption, it was I who had assumed—"Since we were discussing Thranduil, and the coming war, you took it to indicate we needed his assistance, and that you were to achieve that. I am sorry now, for it was meant for you to leave, but not to obtain his assistance, for we all knew even then that it was a pointless endeavor. None knew the real nature of your task except for those who had to know."_

"_Then what is my purpose?" I asked._

"_You knew your purpose when you left," Galadriel resumed, and withdrew a single sheet of parchment. "This was found trampled beneath the Orcs, with blood staining the ground and the branches of the tree above where it lay. This letter has served more than one purpose, and all in your favor. But that is not what you have come here for, is it?"_

_I closed my eyes, not to stem tears once more, but in confirmation. I had known, since reading __Celemirë's letter, what my purpose was. Though the letter had been short, I had been able to see what was not written, and piece that together with the information Legolas had given me. I knew Mirkwood was without King for all considerate purposes, that a request for help was not the key issue, that the King himself was the key issue. Everything was opposite. I opened my eyes._

"_That is not an option," I said, swallowing back my feelings._

_Forfiirth stared at me with distaste._

_Lady Galadriel moved to the Mirror, her azure eyes closed beneath her lids, her hands deftly stirring the water in the bowl. Forfirith was the one now to speak._

"_Lord Elrond knew of the Ring being kept by Frodo from Gandalf, and when it was decided that the Shire was no longer safe, Elrond sent emissaries for what would become the Council. The choice of who would represent the Elves was more tedious; Elrond himself wanted someone from the home of his wife, but Galadriel refused. It was enough, she stated, that the Council was held by the bearer of an Elven Ring, and those dwelling in __Lórien __were also under the power of a Ring. Mithlond, home of C__í__rdan, would not be as greatly concerned with the matter of the One Ring as the rest of Middle-earth. There only remained Mirkwood," my sister narrated, and at her pause I felt my chest tighten. I did not want to know why the choice had been made as it was. I felt cheated, lied to. "It was deemed the most suitable choice, for they had guarded Gollum before his escape, and so they were aware of the perils of the Enemy. When Legolas arrived at Imladris to report the escape of Gollum, I was present, by request of Lady Galadriel. I spoke to the Prince, bestowing the honor of this privilege upon him, and to which he readily accepted and agreed without hesitance. But I also told him that the suspicion of Dol Guldur to attack both __Lórien__ and his father was known to the Golden Wood__, and since it was no secret the state of Thranduil, specific aid would come to him, but it would prove beneficial that Legolas join the Council and aid the Ring-bearer in his actions. The Prince did not question me, having already guessed the nature of the aid his father would receive. Bound to secrecy, he could tell no one, not even you, Amorith, when he met you here. He was appointed to further assist you by informing you of the King's frame of mind, and when he saw me in the Forest of Fangorn, I knew he had succeeded in what he had been tasked. All we awaited was your actions."_

_I was rooted to where I stood, unable to believe what my sister had just told me. That she had left her Forest had been my first shock, but it paled beyond comparison to the tale she just shared. It had been planned, for some time, this I could clearly see now. There was nothing that had not been rehearsed, thought out, enacted; again I felt as if I were merely a puppet moved hither and thither by higher powers. Was there no one who was not involved…Lord Elrond for the Valar's sake! And Legolas, my dear Legolas, who had sat with me, pouring his anguish to me, feeding me what was needed for the days to come! Legolas, of the Council of Elrond, and the Council of Galadriel! There had been many secret meetings about me…without me…_

"_Come, Amorith, there is something you must see," Galadriel beckoned._

_I found myself moving stiffly towards her, until I was standing exactly opposite her. Eyes open now, with her palms facing up, spread out as if in welcome before her for me, she indicated the Mirror with her golden head. Nenya flashed as it stood above the waters beneath._

_There was the palace of Thranduil, but it was not the same. The halls were full of angry Elves, carrying torches and weapons, crying out for Thranduil to revenge their lost loved ones, to avenge their home, but Thranduil did not answer, for he lay dead on the cold floor beneath them, his blood flowing as freely as the river waters from his wounds. And the Silvans, devoid of King, devoid of any solid leader, rushed out to the oncoming Orcs, but I knew they would never find victory. They were fearless fighters, but without someone to guide them, they were unable to organize themselves as one united front. Dispersed as numerous little clans, they were easy targets for the Orcs, and Mirkwood burned with their bodies, and their trees served as their kindling. From there, the Orcs spread northward, into Lake-town, and east to Imladris—_

_Horror overtook me, and I wrenched the Mirror from its stand, throwing it to the ground, screaming. This is the fate of Mirkwood, the fate marching black; at noon it would be here. The King would have no time, no warning. Even if he had, he would do nothing. I could do nothing. His people would not believe in me, and there was not time enough to convince them of what needed to be done. They would cast me out, kill me…_

"_The Mirror has shown you what will become of Mirkwood if Thranduil does not find the strength he needs to lead his people into battle," Galadriel spoke._

"_He does not have enough warriors," I said, knowing the doom was sealed._

"_After Imladris, I accompanied Legolas to Mirkwood, but I did not go into the palace, I stayed amongst the trees, for Fangorn spoke of hardy Ents who had long been slumbering, and they had sworn an oath long ago to protect Eryn Galen in its time of greatest need." Forfirith said._

"_In all my time there, never have I seen an Ent,"_

"_It was said only the lady of the woods could awaken them, but I failed, and even Galadriel said in the time of Oropher she did not see Ents, nor were there any spoken of when the Queen lived._

"_The Ents have long slumbered, and may have forgotten their promises, yet if they have not, then surely there is no lady of the woods now since three women's efforts were not reaped. If it warms your heart to know this Amorith, then I hope you listen. Lord Elrond has sent a legion of his best warriors, feeling that since he has risked the kingdom of Mirkwood by occupying its Prince, this is the least he could offer in return. At dawn they will be present. And the Men of Lake-town, with whom Thranduil has maintained a cordial friendship with over many long years, and at councilor Aranel's request under the command of Legolas, have sent a legion of Men arriving by river as well. They too shall be there at dawn."_

_I paced in silence, my mind filled with the visions from the Mirror, and the voices of Forfirith and Lady Galadriel. I was astounded at the level of oversight, the great lengths that had been taken to conceal this grand arrangement. So much concern for Mirkwood, even when a greater worry exists now, but it was needed. Mirkwood was a delicate realm and its downfall could mean the downfall of other realms as well. And the inactivity of Thranduil forced Elrond and Galadriel to initiate protective measures without consulting him, not out of superiority, but rather out of need and worry. They implemented all that they could do, but the one obstacle remained: to convince Thranduil of what he had to do. None of these arrangements would be beneficial if he did not feel the desire to accept them, if he was not persuaded. _

_Galadriel smiled softly at me now, taking my hand in hers. Her eyes were slightly misty as the true nature of my task now unfolded itself in my mind. I did not hate her, not for the manner in which she executed matters, nor from concealing this news from me. I had known what my true task was, but did not wish to believe it so. And she had known from even before any of this had started that I would prove to be the most formidable obstacle, not Thranduil. Galadriel knew I needed to leave Lórien and travel to Mirkwood to see with my own eyes the actual manner of affairs, for there was no other way to convince me. Patiently she waited, sensing my growing awareness, feeling my despair at the situation. And everything that occurred along the way was meant for this moment: the poison had cleansed me of my impatience, the Eagles were indeed a sign of my redemption, and __Celemirë was my motivation. If for nothing at all, it was for her, for the people, because they deserved to not die in such a callous manner. They were the pawns in this private war between Thranduil and me. It was the people of Mirkwood whom I cherished the most, for they had welcomed me into their midst, allowed me to refine them, and in turn I had fought for them and their King, and they had called me Mistress…and then I abandoned them._

"_I have always known since my exile he would never love me again. It was not all his fault, for I knew he detested lies, and I lied to him for so long, how could I have expected him to be anything but himself? Is it always so, love and lies?" I whispered, feeling myself calmer now than before._

"_Only if there is reason for shame or embarrassment," Galadriel replied._

_We smiled at each other, sharing between ourselves the understanding of many things. She gripped my shoulder tightly before releasing me, and I nodded towards Forfirith._

"_May the Valar strengthen you, Amorith…"_


	27. Secrets of Mirkwood

DISCLAIMER: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien; the rest is mine. Again, Amorith narrates.

**Secrets of Mirkwood**

_I awoke with a start, half wishing, half expecting to find myself still in Lórien, to revel in the graces of Lady Galadriel, to beg of her to release me from my burden, to send to Mirkwood forces to save it, but this last wish I knew would never occur. Not because the Lady regarded Thranduil as unworthy, but because there was no time. Mirkwood would have to defend itself. If it did not, then what I had seen in the Mirror would come to pass. All would be truly lost._

_My head still spun from the revelations of this day: of the fall of Thranduil, the dinner, the assault, the plight of my __Míriel__, the unrest of the palace and the people, the dead that were not yet mourned—and perhaps the greatest revelation was all that I had learned in __Lórien. There was nothing that could surpass that. I felt my very core was shaken. I had been played along as if I were a fool, incapable of my own sound thought and judgment. I was angry at first for having been kept in the dark, that my sister Forfirith had an active hand in all this. Our roles had been reversed, for once she played the strongest of us, and I remained as docile as a lamb. But it was not only Forfirith, but Legolas as well. He too had an instrumental task. He was charged with the duty of supplying me with the information I needed to set my mind on a single course, to begin the churning of my wits. Since I had seen him in the Golden Wood with the Fellowship, he had hardly left my side, plying me with the details of his home, of the depressed state of matters. It had seemed natural that he spent his time with me in such a manner; and now, allowing myself to revisit those moments, I could not find a reason to think otherwise. He had been honest when he had described Mirkwood to me, and the condition of his father. There had been no deceit of any kind, and why should there have been any? Everything he informed me of was the truth, and his feelings were genuine. When Legolas had been chosen, there was no other replacement._

_My mind next considered the subject of the aid that Mirkwood was to receive. Lord Elrond had been accurate when he felt it necessary to send a legion of his own warriors. None could foresee the fate of the Fellowship, the Wise notwithstanding. Gandalf had fallen to a Balrog of Morgoth deep in the recesses of the mines of Moria, and though he had been sent back, he had fallen. I recalled the despair of the Fellowship when they had sought refuge in fair Lórien, and it had seemed at the time that they would disband, were it not for the words of the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim. Even Legolas was full of doubt and anxieties, but I had warmed his fears, and he had taken strength from Galadriel, perhaps in more ways than I knew then, and was just now beginning to understand. If he were to perish, then Mirkwood would lose its Prince, and the King I knew would completely unravel. Legolas was the one person keeping him alive, and if he lost him, then the King would cease to exist. Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel knew this fact; I had no doubt that they did not. It seemed a logical response, for in a way Imladris, more specifically Lord Elrond, would owe Mirkwood some form of allegiance. I did not question the intention of Legolas joining the Fellowship, but it was not simply the Fellowship that had enticed him. He had been sought after for a different matter even before consenting to protect the Ring-bearer. Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel would not forget that. The Men of Lake-town sending their own soldiers was somewhat of a surprise, as I did not understand how they fit into the scheme. The longer I thought on this point, the more I became convinced that this was of Legolas' doing. It would not be foolish to presume that he had at some point gone to Lake-town, if not many times. Thranduil was quite fond of his wine from there, and the relationship between the Men of that town and the Elves of Mirkwood was not cool, but quite friendly. Perhaps Legolas had felt that if his father's coffers helped fill the treasury of Lake-town, then a threat to Thranduil would mean the same to the Men of Lake-town. Councilor Aranel, who was of like mind with the Prince, would have readily agreed to his beloved Prince's wishes, and would have done so in secrecy without being told the necessary reasons why. Legolas could not have chosen a better ally._

_I shook my head sadly, for there was help coming to Thranduil, but he would not help himself. And what manner of convincing was needed to assure him that the Lady Galadriel was not attempting to take over his rule, that these measures had been implemented only because he did nothing. How would he react when he learned of his son's involvement? How would he ever bring himself to willingly listen to me? I was frightened. He would never listen to me._

_Night had fallen now, and the stillness in the air was not natural. I could feel my very breath penetrate the air, my very presence seemed vulnerable. This night was not of the Valar, but of Sauron, and I felt myself naked. Shivering suddenly, I rose to my feet and raced as lightly and soundlessly as possible back towards the palace. The gates seemed to take forever to open, and only when they clanged shut behind me in the darkness did I feel relieved somewhat. Yet as I proceeded further through the corridors of the palace, my spirits sank heavily. How was I to convince Thranduil in the little hours that remained that his people needed him? I knew my position at this hour was suspicious, for it would seem now that I had returned to overthrow him, to proclaim his throne as mine, his rule over, and demand the people's allegiance. No matter what proof I offered him, or how valiantly I would disregard the accusation, it would come nonetheless and perhaps more swiftly than if I keep my peace. I did not know what to do._

_As I turned the corner to the healing chamber, I found myself stopping in the middle of the hallway, my senses heightened. This last thought flitted through my consciousness again, and I wondered suddenly how I had overlooked this smallest but important detail of all. Since my arrival in the palace, I had not been disturbed at all. I had even been placed in the King's own healing chambers. Not once had he looked in on me, but most importantly, the people had not clamored outside the door demanding my removal from their home. Cautiously I allowed myself a quick assessment of the hallway: there was no one except for a few guards. They were gathered away from the door, and amongst them I saw Innas. They were speaking in hushed tones, and slowly I advanced towards them, keeping to the shadows._

"…_noontime tomorrow…"_

"_Are you certain they are coming?"_

"_I assure you they are closer than we dare to hope; everything was explained by Lord Elrond—"_

_Clearing my throat I stepped out from the shadows and the little assembly could not move or speak. Innas clutched Elrond's letter so tightly his knuckles turned white. After a few moments they began to break up, but I raised my hand to stop them._

"_You have hidden much from me Innas. Pray tell, when was I to learn of the alliances with Imladris and Lake-town? When the forest would burn and the palace overrun?" I asked._

"_You were not supposed to have known. Who told you?" he stated._

"_The manner in which I know does not matter; I was informed by a reliable source."_

_I stood now only a few steps away from the men, and on their faces I read their astonishment. But there was fear as well, for none of the help riding towards them now would be of any value if the King did not see fit to lead his army against the Orcs and the other fell creatures of Dol Guldur. This they knew would doom them even if all of Middle-earth came to their aid._

"_Then Lady Galadriel deemed it was time to tell you, for there is no other way you could have known this tonight." Innas said. "And if she has chosen to inform you, I see no reason why I cannot divulge anything as well, for you know the general theme of things, but none of the small particulars which we have taken great pains to conceal." _

_He nodded to his men, tucking the letter from Elrond back into his robes. Taking my arm in his, he led the procession into the healing chamber, where the door was locked unceremoniously. In my absence the chamber had been rearranged. The large sturdy desk had been moved to the center of the room, and whatever chairs, small tables, and footstools that could be spared as seats were placed around it. Most of the candles and lanterns were spaced evenly on the table's vast surface, and from the light that was cast I saw various maps and sheets strewn about it. Several jugs were placed on the table, and goblets were dispersed by the seats. In one far off corner was the wooden divider, and behind it lay __Míriel__, still resting in her bed. Briefly I looked her over and planted a kiss on her forehead before returning to Innas' side, who was motioning towards me. He pointed to where I should be seated, and the men joined us. Innas looked around him with a sober expression on his face and his men returned the gaze._

"_It had been known to us," and indicating the gathered men I knew Innas meant them, "for some __time that Dol Guldur would launch attacks on Mirkwood as well as __Lórien. A warning was sent to the Golden Wood. The Lord Celeborn and his Lady had spies of their own, but they were hidden from us, and we only learned of them after another event came to pass at a later time." _

_Shaking my head, I asked, "I do not understand. You told me when you requested permission from Thranduil to warn Lórien he refused. Now you contradict that?"_

_A chuckle ran amongst the men, and Innas looked quite pleased with himself; he had the same expression on his face when he had been an elfling and gotten away with something. I could not help the infectious smile that spread across my face as well, for some things never do change._

"_Being so far from the palace, one tends to act independently, yet I did not do so on my own. Prince Legolas approved the warning himself, and it was understood amongst those who were present that no word of this was to be mentioned to the King. Legolas assured me he would bear the full responsibility on his authority. You see, the Prince was troubled, for he had received news of a portion of our people leaving for Lórien, having grown weary and despaired of their King. For not all believed his dismissal of the growing shadow as folly. Prince Legolas was anxious for his people and his father. You know very well Amorith how the King prides himself on caring for his people. Legolas wanted to hide this news from his father. So he approved of the warning to be sent to Lórien as a small token of appreciation for admitting our fleeing people._

"_I have no doubt that once in Lórien, they had unleashed their burdens upon the Lord and Lady, and perhaps even beseeched them to aid the King themselves. It is no small secret that our Silvan Galadhrim kin are well protected; I am quite sure the Lord and Lady were asked to spare some warriors, or at the very least communicate with the King. What could they do, however? It was not in their rights to overpower the King, no matter how unstable he had become. And he was not evil, he did not assail them. He housed Gollum within his prisons, and had been attacked as a result. I am confident the Lord and Lady were grieved nonetheless, and did not let the matter slip so very easily from their minds. At least this is what I have come to believe after Legolas returned from Imladris, to report the escape of Gollum from his father's prison."_

_Here Innas paused, taking a sip from his goblet, to wet his throat. Again my mind was reeling with the information he shared with me now, and I felt myself pitying the people of Mirkwood, grieving for their King, who barricaded himself that he did not perceive the fears of his people._

"_I recall well the return of Legolas from Imladris. I was sitting with my father, sharing a small pie that he had ordered especially for me, since I was bound to leave for Dol Guldur at dawn. It was an unusually quiet night, and he had entered my father's chambers so silently that we did not sense him until he stood at our side. We knew from his appearance that a matter of immense importance was on his mind, and bidding him to sit, he proceeded to tell us that he had met your sister, and that she had informed him of the Council that was to occur. He had accepted he told us, but that was not what troubled him. He had come to learn from her that the Lord and Lady of Lórien knew of the threat of Dol Guldur, and that they knew of his father's rule. She indicated that the warning he had sent them was not the manner in which they had first learned of the threat, but rather from their trusted eyes, who remain unnamed. Mirkwood, he further added, would receive help, but he would not be present. Therefore, he required our aid. Readily we gave it to him, swearing to uphold all he had shared in confidence._

"_Afterwards, he led us outside the palace, and for some time we walked after him in silence, wondering where he was taking us. There was a small clearing, and a hooded and cloaked figure approached us. At first, we thought it was you, for Forfirith resembles you in appearance only, but from her countenance and demeanor we knew that she was not. Legolas made us promise her to provide you with assistance when you came, for she was ever adamant that you would return, as was the Prince. She then told us of Lord Elrond's commitment to send a legion of his best warriors when the need arose, and Legolas spoke of his intention to ask the same of the Men of Lake-town. My father carried out this request, travelling himself to secure the negotiations." _

_I nodded at this final statement; I had guessed correctly in assuming that Legolas had secured the help of the Lake-town Men with Aranel's assistance. My astonishment at Forfirith's role in all this knew no bounds; she had been here, in Mirkwood, the one place she had sworn never to enter. She mistrusted Thranduil from the first, warning me that nothing but despair would arise from our bond. And she had been correct—yet why did she break her own word? Why had she involved herself in this matter, she was disconnected and removed from all this? Then the words of Lady Galariel returned to me, "Forfirith was frightened, realizing the true extent of your love for Thranduil. But she would not see you turn into her, because that is not your fate. And so she worried about you in agony, thinking of a way to revive you to your true self."_

"_What is my fate, then?" I whispered._

_Innas did not seem to hear this, as he continued, "I returned to Dol Guldur, content that we had at least some allies that would help us. Prince Legolas returned to Imladris when he was called for the Council, and I knew then it was only a matter of time before we would be attacked. We increased our spies at Dol Guldur, but nothing new did they learn. Then, shortly before I found you in Lórien, I returned here, to beseech Thranduil one final time. I was exiled as expected, but I was also free to pursue the real task of waiting for you. I had been plagued by then of dreams of you, and I knew your time had come. I just did not know when."_

"_You willingly exiled yourself?" I asked._

"_How else was I to have the King's attention off of me? I regret it now only because…" Innas replied, his voice trailing, and I knew he indicated __Míriel. "You frightened me, Amorith, when I found you, I thought you had died. I have prayed every night since finding you…but it seems the Valar protect you, for you even passed through the gates of the King, and they do not admit those who he deems to bear him any harm or ill will. And I passed as well, though we are both exiled."_

_I smiled at him, patting his arm. For all the questions that went unanswered, I had this answer._

"_When I came to Mirkwood, or Eryn Galen as it was then known, the forest was overrun with many fell creatures. The people had all but retreated to this northern portion of the realm, within the confines of the palace. But Thranduil wanted a more secure entrance to the palace, and so he commissioned with the Dwarves to build him a mighty gate. Disagreement arose, for they had built it of steel instead of mithril, and Thranduil was angered. He wanted to lead an army against the Dwarves, but I thwarted him. I told him to rest and cool his thoughts, and during the night, I went out to the palace gate myself. We Noldor are possessed of great crafting skills and lore knowledge, and my descent from the greatest craftsmen did not fail me then. By the grace of the Valar, I was able to enchant the gate, so that it would not allow any who desire to harm the King or his people to pass. So long as I live, the gate will hold, for in doing so I had to part with some semblance of myself: it is my love that gives power to the gate. That is the only reason I believe you and I passed—that we hold no ill will against the King."_

_There was silence now as we all absorbed the information that had been relayed. The candles burned lower, and I realized how much time had been spent exchanging tales. My heart sank; time was again not in my favor. The men around me appeared to have grown more sullen as the realization struck them: I was here, but the situation of Mirkwood was not better. Had they expected an instantaneous solution to their problems, that Thranduil would listen to my words?_

"_What will you do?" Innas asked me quietly, with the eyes of his men upon me. "You are our last hope, Amorith, to save Mirkwood, our King, our people…"_

_His voice trailed off again, and I saw his gaze linger on the wooden divider, where his beloved lay resting, the rose of Thranduil's court that had been trampled upon violently. _

"_Our people…" I echoed, closing my eyes, feeling the sorrow and anger that filled the palace piercing me. "They are the answer."_


	28. The Resolution

DISCLAIMERS: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien; the rest is my creation. Reviews kindly appreciated.

**The Resolution**

The silence in the room was deafening. The men stared at Amorith as if she had suddenly announced that she was Sauron. Innas' face paled so blandly he appeared to be a living ghost. Amorith smiled, knowing fully that what she had just said sounded unbelievable. Not merely unbelievable, but more correctly it was verging on hopelessness. Here she was, the final miracle for Mirkwood, its sole savior…stating that the people were the key. What madness was this?

"Have you forsaken us?" Innas whispered. "Has your grief touched you so deeply?"

Amorith shook her dark head, eyes glittering brightly in the waning candlelight.

"My grief is what drives me to this option, for there are none left for us—for _me_—to pursue. You know perhaps best of all of us here that any attempt to confront Thranduil directly will be an invitation for disaster, especially if the confrontation originates from me."

Innas hung his head wearily, digging his hands into his temples. His men sat back in their chairs, faces long, eyes disenchanted. One of them voiced weakly, "We are doomed; we will perish."

Amorith paced across the floor, wringing her hands. She caught sight of the wooden divider, where Míriel lay resting behind it still. The Noldo stopped in her tracks, calling to the men.

"If you have no faith in the people, then in what will the King believe?" she asked them, moving the divider aside and kneeling beside Míriel. "I was the one who betrayed his trust, left all of you behind without even a second glance. I was selfish, thinking of none save myself, my grief. I did not trouble myself with what would happen to the King and the kingdom in my absence. I was too absorbed in my own self. I was the one element that was solidifying him. Or so I thought. I overlooked the overwhelming power of the people; only they can affect him now with love."

Innas did not lift his head, only his voice in reply, "What occurred to you was not of your doing; you should not blame yourself. The King is responsible for his own actions."

Amorith closed her eyes, shaking her head, smiling sadly. His words echoed those of Haldir.

"I lied to him, to all of you, is that not betrayal, treason perhaps? I placed everyone here at considerable risk, knowing the possibility—great possibility—of my family's curse not to be spared from me. Yet I am selfish, even then, thinking only of my happiness. I am more partially responsible for the current situation in Mirkwood; I should be the one to burn for it," she said.

Innas lifted his gaze to meet hers, nodding slightly.

"I owe it at least to Míriel, she never faltered in her belief in me…until the end." Amorith stated.

The men murmured their consent, grudgingly, torn between their disbelief of their survival and denial that Amorith was responsible for the crisis of their home. Innas stood up finally, directing his attention to Míriel, who lay limply beneath the sheets, the Noldo stroking her brow. His conversation from the previous day with Amorith burned fresh in his mind. He still could not bring himself to believe that Míriel would forsake Amorith, abandon the one person who meant everything to her. He could understand Amorith's feeling of responsibility, but refused to believe it. The Noldo may have erred, no one was free of mistakes, yet Thranduil was a mature man; if Amorith was indeed responsible, then so was the King. It could be no other way for Innas.

"What shall you do?" Innas asked her. "We will aid you however we can."

Amorith took Míriel's hand to her lips, kissing it tenderly.

"I need the people seeking refuge in the palace to be gathered in an hour's time in the throne room. Do not tell them anything but this: the mourning of their beloved ones shall commence."

Innas stared at her.

"You must trust me, Innas, just this once." Amorith beseeched him, eyes glowing in the embers of the candlelight. "I have failed you before, but I swear, this time I will not."

Innas swallowed his feelings back down into the pit of his stomach. He motioned for his men, and they came silently one by one, until they formed a ring encircling Amorith in their midst. Her head bowed, Innas took her hands to his lips, pressing into each a tender kiss. His men knelt all around her, swords unsheathed, held aloft in their upheld palms, gazes downward. No words were spoken, yet Amorith felt the power of their commitment reinvigorate her waning morale. She opened her mind to them, feeling the rush of their emotions overpowering her: sadness, fear, anxiety, and hope. Looking at them individually, Amorith memorized their faces, etching into her mind this moment. There were tears streaming down their fair faces, as well as hers, as she gave them all a weak squeeze of their shoulders, communicating her acceptance. So young they were in comparison to her. She remembered watching them as elflings, and now they would perish in defense of their land, people, and for a King that was not present. And part of it would be her fault, no matter how hard they denied this fact. After she could not handle anymore, Amorith unleashed the last of her reserves, letting it flow from her into the men: a serene calmness, a purposeful sense of duty, and pride. If they were to make their final stand, then the Silvan Elves of Eryn Galen would show the Enemy true merit and worth.

"You are not all alone here, Mistress, your people will harken to your word," Innas said, raising his green eyes to her gray ones. "We will bring the people to you as requested."

Amorith smiled wanly, wiping the last of her tears from her face. Innas signaled for the men to follow him, and one by one they rose to their feet, sheathed their swords, and filed out of the room after him. The Noldo gave one last look at Míriel before dousing the candles' flames and leaving the room herself, closing the door tightly behind her. She paused on the threshold momentarily, whispering a prayer to the Valar, before stepping away. After a few steps a maiden approached, and Amorith recognized her from the previous day. She stopped her shortly.

"A good morning to you," the Noldo said.

"And to you, Lady," the maiden replied.

"Listen, please. I want you to stay with Míriel. Prepare provisions for a few days' time. Lock the door behind you. Admit none save for me and Innas. If we should not happen to come…" here Amorith handed a dagger to the frightened maiden, "you must find a way out…if the situation becomes dire you must save yourselves, do not let them take you…especially not Míriel…"

Closing her fingers around the dagger's hilt, Amorith released her hold on the maiden, who was shaking violently. Backing up slowly, Amorith felt a sharp coldness steeling through her body, and the horrid retching sensation she hated was burning its way up her throat. Blindly she stumbled away, hands over her mouth, trying to stem back the waves of nausea. An open door beckoned her, and she half crawled, half stumbled into the chamber, vaguely aware of its sense of familiarity, but it was not until she lay in the wash room on her stomach, relieving herself of what lay in her gut, that she realized where she was.

It was as if she had never left. The same light blue linen bathing cloth hung from its place on the wall, the same tub lay as always slightly skewed to the right with its protective ornately hand carved wooden divider shielding her from curious eyes. The colored glass phials full of the tonics, soaps, and salves stood on the window sill, glittering eerily in the obscured silver moonlight. Along the wall hung a pearl encrusted mirror where she had spent countless hours standing before it being fussed over by her handmaidens, either forced into a tight bodice or having her hair pulled and twisted into many differing styles of their own whims and creations. The stone floor was covered by many rugs, mostly woolen, each dyed with its own color, to help ward off the cold. Amorith lifted her dark hair back from her face, turning her eyes away from the mess she had just created in her former bathing tub. The stench rose sourly, threatening a second wave of sickness, but she managed to get to her feet and open the window, allowing the frigid night air to waft through the room and wash over her. There was no water in the pail that lay under the tub, so she reached for the blue bathing cloth and used it to wipe her sickness away, making sure to fold it over several times before throwing it back into the tub. Amorith shook quite violently now, but not from the breeze. She was petrified of what she had to do very soon.

After much conscious effort, Amorith willed herself out of the washing room and into the main area of the chamber. There was an adjacent area to the left of the washing room, the dressing alcove. A very large wardrobe stood along the wall, inside which were her numerous gowns, as well as a few select pieces of Thranduil's robes, and one favorite outfit that belonged to Legolas when he was an elfling that she could not part with. As she walked, her eyes took in the chaises in the opposite corner that was her private sitting area. In the opposite corner was her personal study, complete with bookshelves filled to the brim with many books and the sturdy cherry desk. Thranduil himself had chosen it for her from Lake-town, presenting it to her as a gift on the eve of one of her begetting anniversaries. In turn she had woven the tapestry depicting the great lush

forest of Doriath, whence was his origins, and where they had met, on his successive begetting day. Her fingers lightly brushed it now, grazing the intricate silken threads that she had so painstakingly woven so many centuries ago. It was very long, and hung across all four walls. She spent an entire year weaving it in secrecy, and her efforts had more than impressed Thranduil. She wondered now what he thought of it, if he looked at it in the same light when he had first laid eyes on it. With a sigh she turned away from the wall, making her way slowly to the expansive bed. Light curtains hung from each corner post, shabby now under the weight of the collected dust of the years gone by. She seated herself precariously on the edge, hugging herself, not daring to touch it with her bare hands. So many beautiful memories this room held for her, yet the sweetest were the ones created and fulfilled in the bed.

One memory in particular came to the forefront of her mind. Legolas was very young then, just at the age of mischievousness that was done intentionally. He had come to her at midnight, in his maroon resting-robe, his little coverlet trailing on the ground behind him. His small feet pattered over the stone floor as he ran to the bed, then launched himself into an ungraceful twist, where he landed on Amorith resoundingly, jolting her awake. She cried out, startled, and he had laughed manically. Cuffing him lightly, he had planted himself in her lap, dodging her blow.

"Pray little Legolas what has brought you here?" she asked him.

"I want to sleep with you," he announced in his shrill voice.

Amorith smiled, holding back her blush. Thranduil had promised her a very eventful night, and the presence of his son would ruin everything. Legolas looked up at her expectantly, a stubborn smirk on his face. She knew it would be futile to resist.

"You must leave when your sire arrives. We have important business; you cannot be present."

The tiny Prince scowled at her, saying, "Why is there always business? I want to stay!"

Amorith shrugged, replying, "Very well, as you wish, your Highness."

Legolas squealed in delight, nestling himself in the crook of her neck. He entwined his tiny hands in the curls of her hair. Amorith settled back amongst the soft down pillows, folding her hands under her cheek, gray eyes closed. She slowed her breathing to a rhythm, trying to feign sleep so that Legolas would follow suit and then be carried back to his chamber so she could commence her plans with Thranduil. At first the elfling sang and hummed quietly to himself, and Amorith was beside herself trying to not let him notice her smile. This went on for some time before he grew weary, and Amorith feared he would not fall into rest. Then his hands tightened around the strands of her hair he was clutching, and he began to comb his fingers through the curls, at times pulling, other times massaging. Whenever he pulled, though, the Noldo could not help the wince she expressed, yet no sound did she utter. She was thankful that there was no candlelight or moonlight to expose her facial betrayals. For how long this went on she did not know, only that when she next found herself awake Legolas had moved down to her feet, and wrapped himself around one of her legs. Thranduil, her beloved, lay beside her, sapphire eyes wide open, a glowing smile gracing his features. He beckoned for her to whisper.

"I was awaiting your arrival then Legolas appeared. He wanted to rest with me. I tried to pretend

I was resting so I could carry him back, but I apparently needed my rest." she said. "I apologize; I was looking forward to your coming to me."

Thranduil planted a kiss on her forehead.

"I just arrived an hour ago; so even if you had stayed awake for me it would have been all for naught. I was stuck in council with my advisors, preparing for an assault in the south." he said.

They both looked at the form of Legolas, still entwined around Amorith's leg. He had muttered something incomprehensible under his breath but remained resting. They both chuckled.

"Why does he like to cling to my leg so?" Amorith asked.

Thranduil sighed. His lips tensed, and the Noldo understood it was his former wife he was about to speak of. She did not urge him, but tried to remain patient. If luck was on her side, she would be awarded with another sliver of information about the late Queen, and a glimpse of his life before she had arrived. Oftentimes her imagination would conjure up the shattered snatches of memories Thranduil had shared with her, and she would piece them with what his subjects also shared, and she would attempt to fill the gaps on her own. Amorith waited for half an hour when she decided it was of no use to hope anymore. Thranduil cleared his throat then.

"When he was born, Legolas would never be parted from his mother. I brought nurse maids for my wife, but he refused them all. But she never minded, and had a large sash fastened across her back, and strung down from one shoulder and fitted around her waist, in which she placed the infant. Where she went, so did Legolas, and after awhile I became accustomed to it. But as he grew, his love for his mother grew as well. When he first learned to crawl, he would always be at her feet, and when he began to walk, he would steady himself by holding on to her legs. And as when he was an infant, he began to hide behind her skirts. At night he would hide beneath the sheets, and wrap himself around her legs. It was so he could be sure that if she wanted to go somewhere, he would have to be wakened so then he could follow her. It irritated me when he was older and followed her into bed, but she always dismissed my frustration with a gentle laugh and when we required privacy she found a way to dismiss him.

The day she died, Legolas was hiding in the wardrobe, dressed in the clothing of her people. He was so grieved, and I was haunted by the memory of her former lover carrying her body onto the funeral pyre, that I forbade him to wear those clothes ever again. From that day, he never forgave me. My guilt was great, I allowed him to rest by my feet, but he refused. His safety net was his mother, and she was gone. It is a sign of his feeling of peace with you that he clings to your feet. I beg you not to rob him of this one comfort of his."

The memory faded, leaving Amorith wishing she had never thought of it. There was no small elfling now to cuddle at her feet and pull her hair. He was gone, far from her reach. She now was the one left behind waiting, dreading each second of his absence. She felt this fear growing in her, until it became unbearable. Was this what he had felt, waiting alone in the palace, anxious for the safe arrival of his parents? A sudden impulse came to her, and she leapt to the floor, sprinting to the wardrobe. Wrenching the doors open, Amorith brushed aside the gowns until she came to the outfit of Legolas. It was just as she always recalled it: the tiny tunic and its leggings. But the colors were not of those of Mirkwood, which were the usual browns, greens, and black, but rather silver and gold, and pale blue. She was suddenly reminded of the Galadhrim. Pinned to the tunic was a piece of parchment, which had been placed in her absence. Quickly Amorith removed the parchment and unrolled it. The official seal of the King adorned the top right corner. With a shaky voice, she began to read:

_**The People's Resolution**_

_We swear by all that is holy and sacred to us, to uphold the laws of our chosen King, Oropher, of the Sindarin ways. We promise to never question his judgment, to execute his wishes, and to protect him with our very lives. In turn, he has promised to let us retain our customs and manners, and to ward off any intended evils. We hold no allegiances except to him, and any future successors. If we fail in our loyalty, then our punishment is death, but if we remain true than the grace of the King is our reward. Furthermore, should the King forget or neglect his duty to us, then we the people must honor this vow by reminding him of his duty to us. As his Kingship was chosen by us, we have the sovereign right to absolve his throne. The King is an elected servant to us, we alone have the power to usurp him or keep him. And should we fail to uphold the King, to guide him when he loses the path as is our obligation, then may the curses of the Valar and all goodness plague us. To this we swear, and to this Oropher swears._

Amorith noted the date, and below that, the names of Oropher and the tribe leaders. Beside each name was a red mark, and with a pang the Noldo realized that they had committed themselves by placing a drop of blood. Oropher had indeed kept to their ways from the start. Rolling up the parchment, Amorith noticed a second smaller piece of parchment; this one was tucked into the breast pocket of the tunic. She unfolded it, immediately recognizing the steady handwriting.

_Aranel was kind enough to produce this for me. We are both certain it will become quite useful to you. I sincerely wish I could be present for the days to come, but perhaps there is wisdom in my departure. I depart for the Council tomorrow, and when you have read this, I beg of you to forgive me. This is the only way Mirkwood, and my father, have a chance. _


	29. The Return

DISCLAIMER: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien; the rest is my creation. The italicized portion is Amorith's narration.

**The Return **

Amorith tucked the parchment Legolas had left for her in her bosom after kissing it fiercely. The Resolution parchment was clutched tightly in her right hand. She returned the Prince's elfling outfit to its place in the wardrobe before closing the heavy wooden doors. Amorith gave her former chambers one last wistful glance then quickly left. She pondered for a few moments' time if she should shut the door behind her, deciding to leave it open just as she found it as to not draw any suspicion from anyone. Though who she could not say; the usually busy corridor was hauntingly empty, there were not even any guards in their posts. Even so, the Noldo felt that discretion was the better part of wisdom and returned to her former chambers one final time to retrieve a cloak, taking care to draw the hood over her face first.

She wandered the halls aimlessly, instinctively keeping to the shadows even though no one passed her. Her thoughts were scarce this time, all her energy bent on formulating the speech she knew had to be said. But what would she say, and under which guise? Amorith stopped suddenly in her tracks, and the fear of old returned. Her exile in the Golden Wood had made her ever more hesitant of ever returning to Mirkwood, but now that she was here and none had pestered her, she grew comfortable. The one element that remained was the most important one of all. She had, by way of intentionally forgetting and becoming engrossed in the current situation at hand, put it out of her mind, but the feeling of the royal parchment enclosed in her fingers brought it back to the forefront of her thoughts now. She could not hide behind the decision of whether or not she had to return to Mirkwood, or of what her purpose in her return was. The Lady Galadriel and her own sister Forfirith, together with Lord Elrond and dear Legolas, had already chosen for her. The two ladies knew that Amorith, out of fear, would decline any offered chance to return, and that she would most adamantly refuse to assist the kingdom. They had known long before her the perils of Eryn Galen, and planned her arrival carefully. It had been done so smoothly that when she realized what had happened, there was no chance of retreating back to Lórien.

None could tell the Noldo princess who she should be. All that could be done to aid her had been fulfilled, and now this final step was hers alone to tread. She had been pushed as far as possible to the edge of the treacherous ravine of her soul to find her own way, to either jump to her death or find a way safely across to the other side. The finding of herself was almost as important as the purpose she would serve in Mirkwood, if not more important, as the outcome would have a direct effect on the latter situation. There was a small alcove ahead, where a large crystal mirror hung above a table. She had reached the waiting area of the throne room, its doors calling to her softly. There was still time yet before the appointed hour in which she would give Eryn Galen her final judgment, time enough to face herself, to face her demons. Pulling out the chair from beneath the table, the Noldo eased herself clumsily onto the seat. She took a few deep breaths.

_I stared long and hard at myself in the mirror, noting every imperfection: the dark circles under my eyes and their dull look, the pale hue to my skin, the way my hair fell limply around my shoulders. Was this what I had become, what I had been reduced to? There was no longer any resemblance of my true self, not even the faintest ghost of a shadow. I closed my eyes tightly, repeating my birth name, Vanimë, in a chant. It sounded foreign to me suddenly; even my native Quenyan seemed thick for my tongue, as Sindarin did when I first uttered it. My name echoed loudly in the halls, sounding much deeper than the soft whisper I had voiced. I recalled the first time I had taken the name Amorith for myself, in the darkness of Middle-earth's First Age, after my sister and I had left our sire, before the Ban of Elu Thingol, in which Quenyan was forbidden to be spoken. It had choked me then to say it—I felt defiled—as it choked me now to call myself by my true and pure name. Over and over I chanted my name, and again I choked as before. A low hiss erupted from my lips, and I was taken aback at its savagery. My eyes flew open, and the image that stared back at me was cold, devoid of any warmth. This was the Amorith in me, the solid wall protecting Vanimë, the force repelling the touch of evil and hurt, the one who knew no mercy or leniency. With one flick of my head, my features softened into the characteristics that I recognized but were now pained deeply. Vanimë, ever cynical, with the touch of curiosity that was my bane, allowing none to offend my pride, yet always full of love and tenderness towards those I love. A small pout appeared at the corners of my mouth, and with another flick of my head I resorted to the initial harsher demeanor. With each change, there was an internal dialog playing along simultaneously to the physical switches. _

"_It would be payment to let Thranduil perish with his kingdom, being only fair."_

"_How can you…you love him so…and the innocent people…"_

"_His people did nothing when you were exiled, they deserve their fate."_

"_You are partially to blame…you lied to him all those years knowing the outcome…"_

"_Enough!" I screamed, and my features froze halfway between cold and warmth. "No more, no more! I cannot always be one half of myself, either Amorith or Vanimë, because I am of both. I am kind yet fearsome, loving and spiteful, tender and cruel…I am all that was before coming to these shores, and everything since my arrival. But my pride and dignity cannot be diminished any longer. I am Vanimë, daughter of Caranthir, Fëanorion. There is no shame in this, for I have not committed any crimes except for betraying myself, and being a traitor to the one person who truly loved me." I stood now, firm in my decision. "Mirkwood, I come to pay my dues for my wrong deeds. I pray it is not a late hour, and that not all will be lost. Forgive me, Eryn Galen!"_

_From around the corner I heard the sounds of approaching footsteps and knew that the time had finally come. I stared one last time at the reflection in the crystal mirror, and what remained of my doubts dissipated as my face brightened slowly, my eyes alight with the fire that burned deep within Vanimë, and the smirk of Amorith curved my lips upwards. As I pulled open the throne room doors, I felt a presence strengthening me, and I knew that my internal rift was sealed._

Innas and his company of men had left the healing chamber as swiftly as the wind blows across the treetops, keeping stealthily to the walls. They walked in single file until they reached an intersection, and here Innas stopped them shortly. He motioned them to gather around him quickly, and when they had formed a tight circle around him he spoke in a barely audible voice.

"For the sake of time, it is best that we divide and go our separate ways. Each quarter must be informed of what Amorith said, no more, no less. I will take the royal section upon myself. There should not be any who will question you, but if there is, you must say it is the will of the King. We have only an hour, so I suggest that each of you hurry, and be sure to change into the more appropriate attire of battle. We will meet in the throne room. May the Valar aid us in our work."

The men nodded to him silently, and dispersed as quietly as they had come. After all of them had gone, Innas turned back in the same direction he had left. It was not entirely true that their being divided was more efficient, for in truth if they had remained together it would have been better, but he needed the time alone. There remained a few lingering doubts he had about the actuality of Amorith being able to deliver the kingdom from its doom. The Noldo was not the same lady he had known when she had been Mistress, she was now more withdrawn and reserved, tending to weep rather than take a stand in what she believed. He had saved her from certain death in Lórien, yet she remained weakened slightly. Aside from the physical ailments, he had detected a deeper affliction of her mind and soul, and the vibe he felt from her was more brazen than he had remembered her to possess. He had read the look of intense hurt and pain in her eyes, and it was this he feared the most. What if she would not aid them, if all the efforts of Legolas and his sire were in vain? If her hatred and spite was such that it blinded her, then she was just as Thranduil. She was currently more delicate than her wont, and he feared she wound unravel beyond all repair. Already she blamed herself for the troubles of Mirkwood, naming herself a traitor, how could she overcome her guilt and grief in time to see that she truly was the savior?

Innas reached into his robes to retrieve the letter he had tucked earlier, the one he claimed was from Lord Elrond. He had found it upon his arrival to the palace in his chambers, placed quite innocently on his desk, the seal of his father glistening unbroken in the candlelight. A sudden panic had seized him, and he had smashed the seal against the edge of his sword, tearing the envelope hastily to read the letter inside. It was how he had learned of his sire's dismissal from court and banishment, of Míriel's pregnancy, of the degradation of the situation in Mirkwood. Aranel had also explained to his son of the nature of the reinforcement sent by Lord Elrond. But the passage Innas sought was at the very bottom of the letter, amongst the comforting words his sire had hastily penned to soothe the grief he knew his son would feel.

"…_I know not in what state you will find Amorith upon her arrival, but I beg you not to pressure her, for the Valar alone know what she has suffered in her exile. You are only to remain by her side, answer her questions, and comfort her as needed. And if you find yourself doubting the faith and trust that both my Prince and I have in her return, then I can only tell you this in reply, that a great treasure has been left for her, and that she will not refuse the call of her fate then…"_

Rare tears dampened the letter as the Captain folded it and returned it to his breast. His final fear was that the people would not listen to her, or even to him. He knew that the King's words held greater sway, as was evident in that they had followed him to the cursed feast. Not all believed the words that he had spoken against Amorith, or agreed with her banishment, yet the voices of opposition were few compared to the silence of the majority. And what strength did Innas have to offer that he was correct in backing her? His sire was gone. He was alone now, the last hope to carry out the mission appointed to him by his Prince, and his conscience. Amorith was correct when she had said that if the people could not rouse the King, then nothing else would. It was the people who had the power now. Could they be the great treasure his sire had spoken of?

Innas took a few moments to gather himself, wiping his tears quickly on the sleeve of his robes. He had enough time to hasten to his chambers and change into his warrior attire just as he had instructed his men before rousing the nobles of the court. Once he reached his room, he stripped quickly, pulling on his armor in swift movements. A quick check in the mirror confirmed that he had done an adequate job. His sire's letter was now safely stored in the pocket of his leggings. As he left, securely locking the door behind him, his keen hearing picked up the sound of a loud slamming, and out of the corner of his eyes he thought he detected a figure hurrying by, but when he blinked it was gone, only a cold shiver left in its wake. The moon-dial in the corner of the corridor read quarter to the hour, and he cursed under his breath for having spent the majority of his time thinking. Now he sprinted along, turning left and right, until he arrived at the section housing the nobles. Clearing his throat, he called out in a loud voice, commanding them to be present in the throne room at the start of the new hour. He waited a few moments, satisfied when he heard the sleepy mutterings as the nobles awoke from their rest, rushing to dress. That was one benefit of the nobles—they required nothing more than a direct order, and were always ready to hasten to any summons. They were almost like trained dogs, awaiting commands to perform.

The Captain met his men shortly afterwards as they rounded the corner to the throne room. They paused before the doors, faces somber, eyes glazed with the intensity of their stares. Again they formed a small circle, encompassing Innas within their diameter. He held out his hand, palm face upwards, and they did the same, placing their palms over his on top of each other. It was their customary method of boosting their morale and confidence before entering into any battle, and though they would not be utilizing their weapons this time, it would be a war nonetheless. Innas looked into each one of his men's faces, but nothing inspirational came to him. They had come to depend on his choice few words before engaging the enemy, yet the only enemy they were about to face was themselves—anger, fear, and denial. What words of strength did he have now?

"This is for Mirkwood, for the King, the people…for everything you hold dear and true. This battle we are about to enter must be won! We must believe in Amorith, our Mistress."

No sooner had he uttered those words than the corridor was full of voices; the nobles had come at last. Innas disengaged himself from the envelopment of his men, and they formed a neat little semicircle behind him. The arrivals stopped, looking to Innas for direction.

"Please, my lords," Innas bowed, motioning for his men to open the throne doors.

Within his mind he heard a voice he had not dreamed of ever hearing again say, "So it begins,"

The dais stood at the far center wall of the room, the throne glinting eerily in the lone glow of the lanterns Amorith had lighted. One small candle she held, her back towards them, the hood of her cape covering her head. She sat a few steps below the throne with the candle held aloft, head bowed, as if in rapturous prayer. The image was of one in mourning, or in awe, and Innas did not know which one of these she felt at the moment. He hoped she was mourning. Once the nobles had been ushered in, the subjects of the King followed suit, moving slower and with anxious faces. They held in one hand a small candle like that to which the Noldo had, and in the other the crowns of woven red berries Innas had seen the dawn of his arrival to Mirkwood. The symbolism was too uncanny for Innas to desire to comprehend, and he had a momentary fleeting thought, wondering if the people knew of the true reason of their summons here.

Again, that voice penetrated Innas' thoughts, "Silently lock the doors."

The Captain turned ever so slightly, feigning a cough, and his men understood the action he was trying to communicate evasively. Silently they locked the doors, tucking the keys out of sight down the fronts of their tunics. Then they positioned themselves at opposite sides of the doors, and in the corners of the vast room, their faces masked. All eyes now turned to the hooded figure crouched on the dais, back still turned to the crowd, almost as if oblivious to their presence. There was a unanimous sense of bated breath, and the moment seemed frozen forever. Innas felt his throat closing around a stifled scream. All around him the gathered nobles and commoners shifted uncomfortably, and an unspoken curiosity and anxiety emanated from them. The feeling that had permeated them upon entering the throne room was somehow familiar, an old memory. They were too afraid to voice their opinion, to name that which seemed impossible. Some were entranced, others wary. There was an invisible force at work, and Innas felt it affect everyone.

"Mourning is never a simple thing."

Her voice broke the silent spell, and it was only then that she turned to face the crowd, slowly shifting her body around. The hood came off, revealing her face fully in the dim light. Innas lifted his gaze in a determined motion, knowing that if he did not do it in that moment then he never would. The lady that stood before him was not the same person he had rescued from the Golden Wood several days ago. There was no sign of the broken heart, or the pain in her eyes. Amorith's voice did not betray the hurt she felt, or the mistrust she held. Her glow of old had returned, and she had regained the softness that was her wont. Yet there remained remnants of the harshness and distance he had felt in her after rescuing her. The gathered crowd drew in a collective breath, and the look on her face was one of amusement and wariness. She was not entirely what she had been when she was Mistress, almost as if torn in two.

"I have spent all my life mourning, and to what good end? Nothing good came of it, only guilt. But for you, there is good reason to mourn." Amorith said, coming down the steps of the dais in measured strides. "There is too much hurt and pain—I felt it as you all entered the room. Your losses have been great indeed, and who can blame you for your need to mourn?"

The nobles watched her hesitantly, a portion overjoyed to see her, others looking at her with disdain. She reached the last step of the dais, her gray eyes penetrating the advisors standing before her, sneers playing across their lips. Amorith laughed suddenly.

"I am not afraid any longer of mourning. I know who I am, and what my purpose is. There is no shame for me any longer to admit that I am Vanimë, and that I have returned here to rule over you," she said, triumphing over the stricken crowd, and Innas felt his insides turning stone cold.


	30. Mourning Mirkwood

DISCLAIMER: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien; the rest is my creation.

**Mourning Mirkwood**

Vanimë's expression was one of freedom, like that of a prisoner that has been kept in a dark dungeon who manages to escape after a lifetime of captivity. Her gray eyes were closed in ecstasy, hands held upright, the candle burning bright orange. She laughed again, loud and clear this time, and an underlying tone of pride filled the ears of the gathered Elves. Innas felt his heart quaver, for the slumbering Noldo had awoken at last, and if she was now bent on revenge, there would be no hope for them. He searched her face for a sign of her intent, and found none. His hands closed over the hilt of his sword instinctively. He was torn between fear and awe, for she was beautiful, shining from the Light within, yet terrible. Innas had seen here this way only in the heat of battle, never in the presence of the people. Was this how she had been in Doriath, how his King had beheld her for the first time, a Sindarin imposter in her true guise as a Noldo? Around him, he noticed a small group of nobles and commoners bowing deeply before her, recognizing the Lady's standing. The Captain felt himself echoing their movement.

"Yes, I am Vanimë, I have returned to pass judgment over you," she repeated again, with a slight edge of harshness in her voice, passing through the people slowly.

One advisor stepped up, and Innas recognized him as his father's nemesis in the King's court.

"You may have wooed some to your cause with your pretty lies and speeches, yet there remain those who are loyal to the King and know your true agenda," he spat. "You poisoned the lands, and now you have come to reap what you sowed. But we will not let you do so. We do not hold alliances with traitors, Kinslayers, those who have been cursed by the Valar themselves."

Vanimë turned towards the man, recognizing him as Prestachir, chuckling to herself, for he was well named lord of trouble. If ever there was strife in the court of Thranduil, or an argument, more often than not this devious advisor was at the center of matters. Aranel, Innas' admirable sire, was always at odds with this courtier. She moved towards him, stopping only when they were face to face, with his sneering face inches from hers. His hatred towards her was extremely evident. He had never liked her from the moment she stepped into Eryn Galen, and during the time of her exile his animosity towards her had apparently grown proportionally.

"I do not deny that my grandsire is Fëanor, or that my family is cursed. I cannot tell you how I have lived my life in fear of this, hiding behind a personage that was alien to me. You will not understand—nay, indeed none of you can begin to comprehend this feeling!—this feeling, the knowing that during the entire course of your life you will be subject to prejudice, and that you are powerless in its face," she replied. "In all this you speak the truth, except for the last."

Here, Prestachir's sneer lessened somewhat. He had crooned silently when she had affirmed her

tainted blood, the ancient sins of her family, to the gathered crowd. Her shame and guilt was public now, and he turned on his heels, hands spread wide—but she had stopped his glee short with her last sentence. Vanimë shot Innas a wry smile, and he returned the gesture meekly.

"One victorious strike against Prestachir for Aranel!" her voice rang through his mind.

"You witnessed yourself the presence of the Giant Eagle, Gwaihir, and his people, on the dawn of my arrival, which bore the disgrace of your King and your home," she said aloud. "If it is true that I am as cursed as my kin, and a traitor, then how can you explain their help to me? You know that they are under Manwë's bidding, sent only to help the Noldo in dire situations."

Prestachir was silent. There was nothing that could be said, for it was an ancient truth. As far back as the historical lore allowed, the Eagles had only been sent in times of great difficulty. The advisor himself had read all the books he could find regarding the Vala Manwë and his control of the Eagles, having an obsession with the giant birds for as long as he could remember—only the Exiled Noldor were allowed their assistance, but as Vanimë had said, in the direst situations.

"You may still believe I came willingly, seeking to take advantage of the state of despair here. That is far from the truth. I had no desire to return. Fate interceded however, and I find myself standing before you. I see now that I am the only one who can assist the kingdom."

She took a deep breath and ascended the dais, stopping before the throne, where she stooped down momentarily to pick up the crown that lay in the seat. Innas had not noticed it before. It was a beautiful thing, made of pure gold, with precious stones and gems of various colors set in the shape of a leaf atop the crest of the crown, precisely centered. Vanimë had blocked it from his view, and now he knew why she had been mourning upon his entrance into the throne room. The King had placed his crown there, and with a sinking feeling in his gut he realized the harsh meaning. Thranduil had given up his rule, out of shame and guilt. Innas looked around, noting the red berry-woven crowns the subjects carried amidst their arms, just as they had that fated dawn when their King had emerged carrying the body of Míriel.

"If you were truly as loyal to your King as you claim, why have you let him lead you into that doomed dinner, why have you let his nightmares haunt him to the point where he cannot discern between reality and fiction?" she cried out, holding the crown aloft. "Or were you waiting for this moment, Prestachir, to restore the ways of the Silvans before Oropher came? It is known to me that your clan was not particularly fond of being led by a Sindar, that your sire made him swear not to follow in the steps of Celeborn and Galadriel, the assimilation."

Prestachir gave her a deathly stare, and the whole atmosphere changed. He no longer had the power, but Vanimë. His sneer slipped off his face as quickly as it had come.

"The blame is not on Prestachir alone, but each and every one of you." Vanimë continued, once more descending the dais, the crown held in both her hands now, passing through the ranks of the gathered crowd. "Individually you have an obligation, a duty to the King, just as he has a collective responsibility for all of you. It seems, however, you have forgotten your part. But no small matter, I have something here that all of you need to hear, especially you, Prestachir."

Here, she stopped in front of Innas, handing him the crown briefly, and drew a rolled parchment from the front of her dress. This she handed to the Captain, relinquishing the crown. With both his hands shaking, Innas untied the small piece of twine from the parchment before unrolling it. His emerald eyes lifted to meet the gaze of Vanimë, her glance encouraging him. She nodded once, and he cleared his throat, as she made her way to the front of the room, resuming her place by Prestachir. The Captain's eyes froze at the sight of the royal seal at the top of the parchment, which was slightly faded, and the Tengwar used was of a more ancient time. This, he realized suddenly, was the great treasure his sire had indicated. Heart beating rapidly, Innas read aloud:

_**The People's Resolution**_

_We swear by all that is holy and sacred to us, to uphold the laws of our chosen King, Oropher, of the Sindarin ways. We promise to never question his judgment, to execute his wishes, and to protect him with our very lives. In turn, he has promised to let us retain our customs and manners, and to ward off any intended evils. We hold no allegiances except to him and any of his future successors. If we fail in our loyalty, then our punishment is death, but if we remain true than the grace of the King is our reward. Furthermore, should the King forget or neglect his duty to us, then we the people must honor this vow by reminding him of his duty to us. As his Kingship was chosen by us, we have the sovereign right to absolve his throne. The King is an elected servant to us, we alone have the power to usurp him or keep him. And should we fail to uphold the King, to guide him when he loses the path as is our obligation, then may the curses of the Valar and all goodness plague us. To this we swear, and to this Oropher swears._

His voice faltered at the end, and a rush of people came to his side, Prestachir at the head. He tried to snatch the parchment from Innas' grasp, but the Captain held fast. He noted the advisor's face turn red, and following his line of sight, Innas knew why. There, just below the name and blood signature of Oropher was the name Lainanu_, the leader of the prevalent tribe, Prestachir's sire. _Vanimë had spoken the truth. The advisor had a sour look on his face now. The effect of the Resolution's words Innas had read aloud was immediate, and not merely for Prestachir alone. All throughout the hall were whispers and murmurs, and some of the older Silvan Elves nodded their heads. Raising the Resolution above his head, Innas cried out, "This bears the mark of the royal seal; it is legitimate. The words written here bind us to the King, as it binds him to us. If you do not trust me, then see for yourselves, and I call upon Dínenven as a neutral party to affirm to all gathered here. He is the principal royal scribe in the libraries of _aran nín_."

Consent was given, and the crowd split apart, making way for Dínenven. The shy scribe came quietly to stand beside Innas, uncomfortable with all the sharp eyes directed at him. He felt the tension bearing down upon him, and hurriedly he took the parchment from the stern Captain, his trained brown eyes scanning it quickly. Dínenven drank in everything he read, including the blood signatures at the very bottom of the parchment. The scribe handed the Resolution back to Innas, wringing his hands continuously. His voice, soft and barely audible to even the keenest hearing of the Elves, affirmed what he read and Innas dictated, "It is legitimate. I was instructed to keep it in my safe-keeping until the proper time when it would be needed. This is my own handwriting; and Mistress Vanimë spoke the truth—from the very beginning Prestachir's sire despised the coming of the Sindar, our beloved King Oropher, may the Valar bless his soul, which he has inherited. Oropher and his son unified the numerous tribal factions, offering all the native inhabitants of Eryn Galen protection, while leaving the ways of the Nandor untouched, as promised. This Resolution must be upheld by us on our part, or we will be destroyed."

Dínenven strode to where Vanimë stood, this time his manner confident. He took her hand to his lips, kissing them gently, before lowering himself to one knee, saying, "I have always believed in you. You are the only one now who can help us see what we owe our King."

This simple act emboldened the Elves who had earlier bowed before her to do so again. They knelt on their knees, with their woven replicas of the King's red berry crown, her favorite. These they placed at her feet, imploring unanimously, "For _aran __nín_. Help us, so we can help him!"

Vanimë allowed herself to glance at Innas, caught up with the emotions that teemed before her. She saw the unshed tears gathering in his eyes, mirroring her feelings. The small group of bowed Elves moved her beyond words, and as she continued to stand still, speechlessly staring at them, several more people joined them. They were not all commoners, for scattered in between were nobles and members of the court. Their eyes were locked onto her, and she knew she had to act.

"I cannot force you to do what you must; I can only remind you of your obligation. Long has Mirkwood lived in darkness and doubt, and long have you left your King to his shadows," she said, this last sentence spoken as a poisoned arrow, piercing the hearts of the listeners with a cold fire, her eyes now upon the withering form of Prestachir. "Yes, each one of you is to blame for this decay…not me. I made my mistake, and I still pay for it, but how could you have deserted him in his most troubling time? I care not if you believe me or not because I am not the one you hold allegiance to. I came and then I left; and so your loyalty should have remained as ever to him, to Thranduil. He did not change his rule over you, did not disregard the Resolution, when he banished me. He did so because he feared for you! Ever has he upheld its laws, and my banishment was proof of this—his anxiety that I would become as Galadriel propelled him to do what he did. It was you," and here she pointed an accusing finger at the crowd, "who changed, who disregarded the Resolution. The reasons are not of importance. Yes, he wronged you by distancing himself, disregarding you, but you should have righted his wrongs, shown him love," Vanimë continued, her voice breaking, her pain evident as her silver tears fell down her Lighted face, "For what is life without love? And now that he feels he has failed you in the aftermath of the doomed dinner, he needs your love more than ever. Will you not honor your loyalty, your duty? _Furthermore, should the King forget or neglect his duty to us, then we the people must honor this vow by reminding him of his duty to us… And should we fail to uphold the King, to guide him when he loses the path as is our obligation, then may the curses of the Valar and all goodness plague us…_you do not deserve him as your King."

She ended her speech by lifting the crown above her head, and for one instant she saw Innas' breath falter. The Noldo tossed it suddenly to the Captain, who caught it fluidly. He gasped at its weight, and she smiled, saying, "It is not so easy to bear that upon one's head, only a King can."

"I have gathered you here so that you are reminded of your obligations and duties, and know that this is the only reason I stand here before you. Fear not, I would not even wish to rule over such a pitiful people as you. Once, long ago, you were a proud and loyal kingdom; now all I see before me are cursed people. There is nothing worse than self betrayal…trust me, this I know well. I may have hidden my true identity from Thranduil, but I have never stopped loving him, and it is that which drove me to make all of you understand the nature of your treachery." said Vanimë, moving towards the doors, withdrawing a key from around her neck and unlocking the them. "You are free to do as you wish now. Know this however—at noontime the forest will be overcome with Orcs of the Enemy, and no one will be spared."

She made to take a step, but the broken voice of Dínenven stopped her.

"What of the mourning of the ones lost at the dinner?"

The Noldo turned around, a small half smile forming on her lips. She was silent for a moment, her gray eyes stormy. Vanimë stared ahead at no one, but seemed to address the empty throne.

"I shall mourn not their loss and passing, but yours, for they showed true merit and virtue. With the first visible rays of the coming sun, I shall be in the section of the forest reserved for special ceremonies. Mirkwood shall have its final mourning, for its living people are all already dead."

Innas called out to her, unsure of what to do. The doors remained open, yet no one moved. He realized that he now held both the crown and the Resolution parchment. Slowly his men came to him, guarding him. There was not a single nuance on the air, and the very silence seemed too stifling. Not one Elf changed a muscle of their current positions. The warriors were tense, prepared for anything. They eyed Prestachir closely, yet he remained plastered to the wall. The words Vanimë had spoken angered him; he had never been embarrassed before.

It was Dínenven who broke this trance affecting both speech and movement. He had fallen to the ground, ashamed of what he had become. The scribe had never been one for politics and the life of the court, immersing himself in books and the lore of old. His library held copies of many important texts he had borrowed from Imladris, his mind filled with the knowledge and wisdom of ancient times, long lost. He had always revered Vanimë, detecting in her essence something of the spirit and passion of old. She had spent much time in his libraries, and had been a source of stimulating conversations, and had even supplied him with valuable information. After her exile, Dínenven plunged deeper into his books. And when Aranel and Prince Legolas approached him, asking about the Resolution, he had felt something change in the air. And now he knew why.

"Captain, if I may…" he whispered, reaching for the parchment. "We must find the King."

Innas nodded, his throat dry, returning the parchment to its keeper.

"Let us hope it is not too late…" he whispered.


	31. The Awakening

DISCLAIMER and NOTES: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien; the rest is my creation. The overall description is owed to a picture by the painter Jonathon Earl Bowser entitled _Cathederal of Illusion_. The song is my translated version of _Tabki el Tyour_ by Wael Kfouri. Reviews kindly appreciated.

**The Awakening  
**

The first ray of the sun warmed Vanimë's face; it felt like a sensual caressing. She heard the sound of the gurgling stream nearby as it rushed over its stony bed, a small tributary of the river. It was a sacred place for her, this glade. There was something spiritual here, something alive. The trees were older, wilder, a resonation of the true forest of Eryn Galen. She could understand when she was in this spot why her sister Forfirith adamantly refused to leave Fangorn, for the ancient forests of Middle-earth had a certain aura of magic about them, and no Elf could resist the call of the trees and their open spaces. Slowly the Noldo opened her gray eyes, turning her back to the sun. Of all the special places of Mirkwood, this was her favorite. The trees grew very tall and sturdy here along both sides of the stream. High above the boughs entwined, forming a canopy of green and brown, stretching as far back to the small cascade, where the rays of the sunrise filtered in through a most magnificent structure. It was made of shining mithril, with four tall pillars, onto each etched were exquisite winding vines. The pillars supported a circle, which was further divided into smaller spheres, and it was through these smaller rings that the waning sunlight of the new day filtered, offering a unique ambience. A light mist was forming above the stream, herald of the black doom marching towards them, its coolness steeling into her.

"I have done what I could, to the best of my abilities. I pray that the people of Eryn Galen will do the same," Vanimë whispered. "_Ai_, Elbereth, light my path before me in this darkness. Have I truly been redeemed as I hope? This is all I ask for, to have gained my redemption."

She had been standing here alone since departing the throne room, gazing through the mithril structure, letting her eyes travel the circle over and over again, feeling her mind spin with each revolution of the circle. How interesting was life. One could not fathom one's path and purpose from birth, and some would never know, even amongst the immortal Elves. Her birth had been in the land of pureness, Valinor, yet from the beginning her life had been in the shadows. Born into a family already torn and starting to be ostracized, she had learned from an early age the meaning of loneliness. In the dark of the nights, Vanimë had witnessed how the whispers of evil affected her loving parents, driving her father and mother apart. And when the first true Darkness came, she had buried herself alive. In fear and shame she lied to the one who loved her wholly, who had opened his heart and soul to her, and she had betrayed him. Vanimë had never been strong. Amorith's pretense of strength was hollow, its effectiveness stemming from her will to live, and out of love. Forfirith, ever gentle and sensitive, required her to be Amorith, to hold back the stem of cruelties. Forfirith made Vanimë endure all those long years. What would she have become, if Forfirith had not been present? Vanimë dared not to ponder this.

All her miserable existence she prayed fervently for redemption, for a means to end her pain. Now she had the chance to right all she had ever lost, to finally end what had begun in the First Age, when the Jewels were first conceived in thought. She could not die an impostor, without expressing to Thranduil her sorrows about her lie, and to finish the ancient feud. Even though the Noldor's subterfuge had ended in the First Age, its effects and presence still lingered in Middle-earth. Vanimë finally understood her purpose in Arda then. In a way she had known it from the beginning, from the very moment of the Kinslaying in Alqualondë. She was meant to mend the rift between the two worlds, between her prideful Noldorin heritage and the wary Sindar.

A snapping of leaves announced the long awaited arrival of the people and their decision…

Innas stared at the scribe, nodding his silent acquiescence. He turned back to face the gathered crowd, who now stared at him in absence of the Noldo. Dínenven had disappeared in the little time it had taken him to change his position. Still surrounding the Captain were his men, their watchful gazes taking note of everyone and everything in the grand court of the King. The crown remained in his arm, its weight dragging his hand further downward. Opposite of him, on the other side of the hall nearest to the dais, the Elves with the red berry crown replicas rose. Ever so meticulously they made their way across the floor, stopping only a few feet away from him. The leader lifted his head higher, until his somber eyes met the auspicious gaze of Innas. There then passed a wordless understanding between them, and Innas found his voice.

"It does not always hold that true battle is the physical exertion of cutting down your enemy who stands so insolently in your path. There is another form of battle, and in my opinion, this form is the most difficult and is usually unaccredited. There are two secrets, those we keep from each other, and those we keep from ourselves. And when the secrets we keep from ourselves are revealed, only then have we truly won our battle. It is time we honor ourselves, and restore our home to its former glory. Once before have I been a coward and chose the easier road of physical battle than outright confrontation, a battle of psyches and truths. Once only have I done this, and I vow now to not repeat it. Let us hasten to our King," he said.

Slowly, a rippling went through the crowd in its entirety. It started from the front, at the leader of the reformed Silvans, and made its way back amongst the rest of the gathered Elves. It stopped at the last with Prestachir. He glared back at the first, his amber eyes scorching into the Captain's emerald ones. That lasted for a few moments before a few of Innas' men made their way to him, making themselves his personal escort. With a nod from the Elf nearest him, Innas led the large crowd out of the throne room and into the corridor, his hands tight around the regal crown.

They made no further progress, however…

He had heard everything. But it was the sound of movement in the adjacent chambers that had first tugged him out of the depths of his mindless drabbling. He had crept noiselessly towards the wall, pressing his ears against it; even though he had not heard anyone passing in the corridor there was very audible retching coming from the area he knew to be the washing room. Someone had stolen into Amorith's old chambers. Curiosity piqued, Thranduil slipped into the hidden alcove between the two quarters, turning the door ever so slightly. He could still hear movement from the direction of the washing room, and taking a great risk, he darted ever so stealthily and slid under the large bed just in time to see Amorith herself come into his view. She was shaking visibly, her face a grayish pallor. The Elven-king noted how she took in her surroundings as if for the final time, which would be the most likely event. Her slender fingertips grazed the great tapestry she had woven herself for him so many years ago, and an ache in his abdomen formed. After a length of time she had made her way to the bed, the springs lowering closer to him from her weight. A part of Thranduil wondered then what she was thinking, as memories flooded his mind, and the incident when Legolas had spent the night with the Noldo came too easily to him that he remarked to himself if she was sharing this with him. Was she aware of his presence? Or was it his memory, aroused by her sudden attendance here?

Then as strangely as the memory had come, Amorith had darted off the bed and was running to the wardrobe. She was rummaging through the clothes within, and his heart lurched as he saw flashes of her dresses and a few of his own outfits. There was her favorite summer dress; it was the very one he had first seen her wearing in Doriath. And the one she wore to all the autumn feasts; how she vehemently refused to wear a crown of berries upon her head as he did, saying she felt it was not cultured enough for her to do so. Oh, how she had given him little hints from before, but he had been too blind to notice them clearly! Yet the last outfit she fingered was not hers, nor his, but rather to the one to whom he loved above all else, his Prince. This brought a fresh assault of the ache in his belly, coupled now with a pricking in his eyes. If she truly knew of his presence, Amorith was exacting revenge so very cruelly, to stab him in his soul so deftly.

His surprise and bewilderment did not end there, for he saw the parchment the Noldo held, and an image of his sire Oropher loomed before his eyes. The late King had brought Thranduil into the study, then a Prince, prior to the Dagorlad. There had been a scribe present, Dínenven. A strange feeling overcame Thranduil as he lay on his stomach, trying not to choke on the thick layer of dust under the bed, struggling between the present reality and faded memories long past. Whatever Amorith had discovered, it was important; he could sense it.

"My son, the time has come for you to learn the secret of our kingdom, the basis of our lordship over these Silvans, Nandor descendants." Thranduil heard his sire speak as if he were present.

Oropher motioned to Dínenven, who hesitantly nodded, reluctantly producing a delicately carved wooden box. Thranduil noted his sire locking the door carefully, and drawing the curtains to the windows shut. The box was opened with shaking hands from Dínenven, and as Prince Thranduil reached out for the parchment rolled up within, the scribe cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

"He is the only one who may touch it," King Oropher explained, and Dínenven began reading.

The past faded tepidly into the current state, and as Amorith's unsteady voice read aloud the contents of the parchment, Dínenven's voice echoed her quietly in Thranduil's mind. She was astonished, he could tell now. Her mind was attempting to register the words she read, the actual meaning. Thranduil was as puzzled as she was, and when he saw her find the smaller parchment, he somehow knew the explanation was there. However, Amorith did not read this one aloud, only kissed it fiercely before hiding it on her personage. The expression on her face he could not read, it was torn between disbelief, denial, and fright. The Elven-King did not move from his hiding place beneath the bed until Amorith had left the second time, wrapping herself in a cloak, with the hood enveloping her face in its velvety depths. Only then did he emerge, brushing off the dust that coated the front side of him, and allowing himself a hearty sneeze and cough.

So, Amorith had gotten a hold of The Resolution parchment. How had she learned of it? As far as he knew there were none apart from his sire and Dínenven who knew of the existence of the foundation of his kingship. He had read the genuine surprise on her face; therefore she had not planted it. He sat on the floor for a few more minutes, brushing the remaining dust from his clothing when a sudden panic seized him. He had to track down Amorith, if she intended on destroying the Parchment it would be a truly detrimental blow. If he no longer wished to remain King that was one matter, but to see the fate of his subjects harassed by their enemy was another.

Without a moment's more hesitation Thranduil got to his feet, bound on finding Amorith soon.

The King stopped shortly at the wardrobe, rummaging through the contents within, focusing his attentions on the outfit of Legolas. There was nothing, and out of frustration he slammed his fist against the wooden doors. A slight scraping sound nearby alerted him, and the Sinda fled into the enveloping darkness of the corridor. He was barely aware of a presence, continuing on through the palace, intent on locating Amorith. Where would she go? He heard soft voices coming from the hallway, and quickly took shelter in a deeply shadowed corner.

"…mourning, official order…"

"…throne room, at the next hour…"

Thranduil pondered this interesting snatch of conversation. Someone had spoken on his behalf, ordering an official mourning. He was torn between his desire to find Amorith and pursuing this new avenue. If there was someone new in his place, he had to find out. True he had decided to leave the throne, but it had not been announced yet. As far as Mirkwood was concerned, he was still her King, and he would not leave her in the hands of a scoundrel if he could help it. Taking in a deep breath, the Sinda abandoned his first prey hesitantly, and made for the throne room. If he managed to make it in time, he would retrieve his crown that he had left there earlier. He kept again to the shadows, wishing he had the intelligence to have brought along a hooded cloak. His mind registered the fact that two of the most important symbols of his kingship were in jeopardy: his crown and the more critical Resolution parchment. The latter was in the hands of Amorith, while the former he sincerely hoped remained untouched in the throne room.

For the third time in the early morning hours of this day, which held many surprises, Thranduil found himself staring at the still back of Amorith, who sat facing herself in the mirror of the throne room's waiting area. Something held him rooted to the spot, and he watched with a slight feeling of horror as her face changed between a demeanor as impenetrable as stone and then one of warmth. In each countenance he detected elements that were quite familiar to him, but never recognized each separately. Whatever she was experiencing, Thranduil did not envy her; instead he found himself observing her in a state of harrowing interest. In all the time he had known her, Amorith had always presented herself in a pristine manner, always saying or doing precisely what was required of her at the current time. Now he felt she was fighting with herself. The name she repeated under her breath, Vanimë, sent shivers down his spine, and somehow he realized this was her true name. When she screamed, Thranduil could not explain the sensation that coursed through him. Part of him wanted to assist her, yet another part wanted to have as much distance between her as possible. Then he remembered she had the Parchment with her, and before he realized what had happened, he had taken a few steps forward. At the same time he heard approaching footfalls from around the corner, and Amorith had dashed into the throne room. All hopes to regain hold of his crown faded, and now it would be in her possession soon.

Thranduil decided to remain in his corner, while from the opposite direction he recognized Innas leading his company of men. They stopped shortly to regroup themselves, and from their faces he detected a sorrowful willful purpose. At the words the Captain spoke, _"This is for Mirkwood, for the King, the people…for everything you hold dear and true. This battle we are about to enter must be won! We must believe in Amorith, our Mistress", _the Sinda's anger returned anew. He had known from the beginning he could not trust Amorith and Innas and that the Noldo's return was for her domination. He had all the proof now; he would wait for the opportune moment to expose their deceit. Undoubtedly by now Amorith had found his crown unattended on the throne. When she destroys the Parchment there would be nothing standing in her way, Innas would see to that. With slanted eyes and pounding heart he watched the group of nobles enter the throne room, followed shortly afterwards by the subjects. This second assembly tore at his soul more, for they still were garbed in the traditional mourning outfit, and in one hand they held a lighted candle and in the other a replica of his autumn berry woven crown. As soon as the door closed, and he heard the scraping of keys, Thranduil tiptoed to press his ears against the wood…

It was Innas who approached Vanimë. He was alone, holding the crown steadily in his hands, a forlorn expression in his emerald eyes. She took it wordlessly, hands shaking. Her gray eyes pierced his face, but he offered no semblance of glad tidings. Body heaving with great shudders, she sank to the ground, her hands clasped over Innas' atop the crown, tears pouring down her fair face. The Captain said nothing, averting his gaze. Dínenven flanked the Noldo, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder, saying gently to her, "It is time for the mourning, Mistress."

Vanimë drew in a deep breath, but was unable to control her weeping. Her breathing came in half gasps, and as she rose unsteadily to her feet, her gray eyes remained closed. Innas' hands faltered beneath hers. She felt a flutter of wings fanning a cool wind on her face, and when she opened her eyes finally, it was to find a dove perched on her left arm, with Maeglin hovering nearby. It was not this, however, that held her gaze, but rather the lovely glowing golden mane adorning the sapphire enlightened face. Vanimë leaned back against the tree behind her for support, as the approaching crowd of nobles and commoners she had entreated so earnestly in the throne room stopped before her, holding their candles and crown replicas aloft. Ever so softly, she let her voice rise into the brisk dawn air, mourning the Elves that had passed in the dinner:

_The birds weep_

_Flowers wither_

_The suns vanish_

_And Darkness remains_

_Words left me_

_It is shameful that_

_He forget and his eyes are asleep_

_My dreams die_

_I lament to the winds_

_My burdens awaken_

_My hurts remains_

_I hope he returns_

_But he will not return_

_And my love dies_

_I gather my wounds_

_My woes and cries_

_I remain awake while he sleeps_

_Our love together lightens to him_

_Our ardour went away, _

_Where is trust now?_

_There is not the medicine in my hand to return him_

_To remind him of what was, to bring back the past_

_My troubles are big, big as mountains_

_My wounds are deep, deep as oceans_

_My eyes wanted to travel_

_To travel to my beloved's lands_

_I gather my wounds_

_My woes and cries_

_I remain awake while he sleeps_


	32. Reconciliation

DISCLAIMERS: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien; the rest is my creation. Sindarin phrases come from the website, _Council of Elrond_. _Tolkien Gateway_ website referenced. Make reviewing this new year's Resolution; leave your thoughts after reading this chapter.

**Reconciliation**

The Noldo could barely contain herself as Thranduil remained holding his end of the crown, her hands brushing the topside of his arms. A shiver went through her, which the Sinda King noticed but did not comment upon. Instead, their eyes locked unto each other with such intensity Vanimë felt that she could not turn her gaze elsewhere no matter how hard she tried. Her tears still slid down her face from the lament and her earlier fear, but they returned anew as those sapphire spheres pierced into her more deeply than the Orc arrow that had wounded her shoulder and poisoned her. Dínenven cleared his throat, the Resolution Parchment held out between the Noldo and Sinda over the crown. Innas stiffened involuntarily.

"Sire, since we, your subjects, have neglected our duty to you, we deserve this punishment. Do not spare anymore mercy or compassion towards us," the scribe said. "Leave us to our fate."

Vanimë reached for Thranduil's large hands from across the crown, enclosing her shaking fingers around his wrists. He did not betray any emotions from her touch.

"Do not fall into the trap that my kin went needlessly into: anger. For anger breeds hate, and from hate there is a blindness of the mind, heart, and soul. _Estel nin_ (trust me) when I say this, for I have endured the effects of this my whole life, and I will not let the one I love go down the same path, for there is nothing there save pain and self destruction. Even though I did not share those sentiments my kin did, I was nonetheless pulled into the fray," she whispered to him.

Thranduil remained motionless and speechless as her hands briefly stroked the sides of his face. She then lowered herself to her knees, brunette head bowed. Her folded hands she held clasped in front of her momentarily before reaching to her neck with one arm and swiftly undoing the small knot that held her black cloak around her nape. This she gathered swiftly within her arms, and raising it as an offering upon her palms, she elevated her gaze just slightly.

"When you gave me this freely many a millennia ago to chase off the bitter cold of that night, I wanted to return the favor but did not know in what manner. And you had said to me, _'Not all favors are debts to be paid later'_. Yet my pride will not allow this to linger any longer than is necessary. I cannot live whilst I am indebted to another. And my debt to you, _hall aran nín_ (my exalted King), is great indeed. It was by my people that Doriath fell, that the noble Elu Thingol perished, that the greatest hurts of Elvendom were done. It was by my coming into Eryn Galen and concealing the nature of my identity that I inadvertently caused a schism amongst your people, as well as being the cause of Míriel's plight. I have as much vested here as any one of you," Vanimë said, indicating with her right hand the gathered crowd witnessing all that was occurring. "And I am unwilling to depart from this beloved forest of mine, from all that I have loved, and still love, without being of service to you, to end what was started in the First Age. By the _Fëanor__iel_ (daughter of Fëanor) before you all here, I will finish what my grandsire began."

Innas closed his emerald eyes, and ahead of him Dínenven took in a deep breath. All eyes were

flitting between the prostrate form of Vanimë and the yet silently immobile Thranduil. His fingers were curled, encompassing his crown and the Resolution Parchment that Dínenven had placed in his grasp when Vanimë first inclined before him. The gathered crowd of nobles and commoners alike advanced slowly, stopping only feet away from Innas. Between the crowd and their Captain stood his men, feet spread apart, hands entwined together, placed over the hilts of their swords. Prestachir surveyed the present situation with interest, for he was intent on knowing the outcome of Vanimë's speech. He hoped fervently that she would be as humiliated as she had made him feel amongst his peers in the throne room. Seizing upon an idea, he stepped forward.

"_Hîr_ _nín_ (my Lord), you cannot trust her, this direct descendant of the Kinslayers. They have the gift of pretty speech, for they have learned from the Master of Evil himself, Morgoth. She claims to have no ill will towards you, yet what proof can she offer? You did not hear when she spoke to us in the throne room; her words were not as pleasing then as she tries to make them now. I heard her with my very ears profess that she returned to rule over us."

Prestachir placed his hand on the King's forearm, eyes glinting in the direction of Vanimë. It was as if the spell that bound Thranduil to silence and stillness was broken upon the touch of the Nandorin Silvan noble. The Sinda looked first to his advisor, a disgusted look upon his face.

"If it were up to me, I would have long been rid of you, but my sire, may the Valar bless him, did not agree with me on this point. He revered the Resolution above all else," he spat at him. "Long have I sickened of listening to your lies, but here you have overstepped your boundaries. You dare to defame this Lady's standing, and proclaim her a liar, when the only liar I see before me is you. This I have known for many eons, but now I have my witnesses to prove this to you."

Thranduil moved to flank Vanimë, who remained as she was.

"I have heard everything that passed in the throne room without anyone's knowledge. True, she did pronounce those very words, but you fail to mention in which context, and that is the more important matter here. And herein is your lie. Of all the children of Eru, it is the Noldor who hate Morgoth above all else, for all their woes are because of him. It is not his fell voice of Evil they harkened to at all. I do apologize, Prestachir, but your advice no longer holds any merit for me," the King said, and a small rousing cheer rose from the crowd. "Yet before I continue, I must beg humbly my subjects to forgive my blindness, selfishness, and above all else my pride. Had I not indulged myself in these negativities our kingdom would be more prosperous. Can you find it within yourselves to forgive me, my cherished people? I know I erred grievously in your rights, for a shadow of late has seized my mind, but it is gone now. I promise on the soul of my _adar_."

He ended his speech by lowering himself onto his knees, hands held aloft, palms up, with his crown as an offering, the golden identical twin of Vanimë. She remained as she was, facing away from the crowd and into the sunlight filtering through the circular mithril structure; Thranduil was the opposite, looking directly into the crowd, betraying no facial emotions. After a length of time, Innas moved a few steps forward and stopped directly in front of the two prostrate figures.

"I submit before you again the choice of a neutral judge in this matter, Dínenven," the Captain said. "As is clearly dictated in the Resolution, we the people have the right to either absolve the King's governance, or retain it as we deem fit. If you believe we can thwart the Dol Guldur army alone, then we shall severe our ties with our King. However, if you truly believe that as a united people we have no power except in the King, then a new page in our history begins."

Dínenven moved forward, flanking Vanimë on her left side. The Noldo princess felt his hand lightly squeeze her shoulder as an encouraging gesture. Opposite the royal scribe Thranduil was stationary as the stone walls of his underground cavern-palace. There was a sharp intake of breath from each of the three grouped Elves, but only one exhalation—

"I am not a politician, nor am I of noble heritage. The qualities I possess are the storage of much knowledge and history, and of having the passion for truth to be exalted in its proper place. Most importantly is the fact that I was at the beginning of this, just as I am now at its cessation," began Dínenven, pointing at the Resolution Parchment in Thranduil's grasp. "I was present with our first King Oropher many an eon ago, when the divided Nandorin Silvan tribes were on the verge of annihilation. The growing Shadow in the southern area of the forest was increasing, and then there was the threat that the Lady Galadriel, a Noldo, posed. She assimilated the culture of the Silvan people of that region, akin to the Nandors here, with her own, and that of her husband, the Sindarin Lord Celeborn. Torn between the fear of the rising Evil, and the possible outreaching influence of Galadriel, the Nandor were frightened of their future. Then Oropher came, with a desire to return to what he thought to be the ordained way of life for all _edhil_ (Elves) by Eru—more rustic and natural. So the cautious _Tawarwaith_ (Silvan Elves) of Eryn Galen met with this wondrous Sinda and the resulting effect was this," and again Dínenven pointed at the Resolution.

There was a second exhalation…

"Both of our Kings have lived up to the words inscribed in this Parchment that was penned by my hand personally, words that my very two ears heard. They have not enforced their own views upon us; they have defended us from the many onslaughts of the Necromancer. Yet there is one small matter that must be decided, and in my opinion is a major factor in our current demise. It is the matter of Vanimë, who we have known as Mistress Amorith. Her presence innocently caused a stir amongst our people, and we saw the effects it had on _aran_ Thranduil. I do believe Vanimë, that she is truly sorry for what her family did, and that she has no intent in wresting the crown. I know not by what means she came to return here, but I am certain that her purpose has been revealed and fulfilled. The Valar destined that she would find the Resolution, and beseech us to remember the promises of old, for I do not doubt her love for our King. In this she has redeemed herself, proven that she is not of the same mind as her kin."

The scribe paused, and a sudden chill seized the Noldo. His hand, which had remained on her shoulder this entire time, slipped suddenly, and even Thranduil seemed tense beside her.

"I believe that we should not be so foolish as to absolve _aran_ Thranduil from his throne," Dínenven said slowly, and a roaring approval sounded from the gathered crowd, "however…"

This time the pause was longer, and here Vanimë finally exhaled. She rose to her feet, watching as Innas advanced with the crown, and noticed Thranduil nod at him from the corner of her gray eyes. The heavy crown was placed ever so gently in her arms, and shakily she turned to face the waiting Sinda. His sapphire eyes were directed above, into her gray ones. Something silver glinted in their depths, and with a little jolt the Noldo realized they were tears. As she raised her hands, trembling still, poised to place the crown atop its owner's golden head, Dínenven spoke.

"I believe it is in the best interests of our King, as well as our kingdom, that Vanimë not be allowed to dwell here. In the spirit of the Resolution, there is enough evidence from prior experiences to suggest that the laws laid down by Oropher and the _Tawarwaith_ tribes of old might be broken, and a second schism would occur, which will not be healed. It is not out of hatred or fear of you, rather I respect you Vanimë, but my duty is foremost to the kingdom, and then my King. It was my sire, Laichir, who convinced the other tribes to take Oropher as King, and I was ordained to be the Resolution's Keeper, to remind those who forgot it of its purpose."

Vanimë choked out a surpised sob, and beneath her arms Thranduil swayed momentarily on the spot. Innas rushed to the Noldo's side, supporting her by placing a strong arm round her waist.

"The choice is yours, sire. Do you wish to return to your honorable place as our King, or have you chosen to forsake the throne your father revered? Either way know that we will not judge you, and should you choose to remain _hiril_ (Lady) Vanimë must leave. Even if you abdicate your throne, she would be kind to return to Lórien. I know in her infinite intelligence and wisdom that our former Mistress will understand, for I am bound by a sacred oath." Dínenven concluded.

Time seemed a myth; the entire world ceased to exist. The only thing the Noldo was consciously aware of in that moment was the decision Thranduil had yet to verbalize. As outsiders looking in, with a certain unique sense, both Olwen and Arquen were drawn into the moment with a strange vividness neither could explain. They then found themselves wedged quite suddenly diagonally between Vanimë and Thranduil. Everyone around them was frozen, and the Teleri couple knew that this moment had been instilled in Vanimë's mind as a sort of picture, to be reviewed later. From behind them they felt a presence and comprehended who it was before she even spoke.

_All my life was at an abrupt standstill in that instant, if it could be called an instant. All of the menial minutes of my abominable existence passed swiftly, and a new reality emerged. Here it finally was, the moment of truth about to be dispelled. I had endured the long miserable years of solitude in Lórien and being shot with a poisoned arrow to rest nearly at the doors of Mandos' Halls. My hope was renewed with the Eagles' appearance, a sign of my accepted redemption. Fearfully I clung to one lingering shred of faith that he loved me still, that all would be forgiven. To have heard him defend me slightly against Prestachir's slandering was as if the Darkness had been lifted and replaced by Light; it invigorated my withering empty soul. Knowing he listened to my speech beseeching his subjects to return to him in the throne room filled me with pride, for no barrier was there to distort my words; he had to have felt the bare truth and love resonating in my voice. He would know that the one thing propelling me forward was love. _

_Love, what a curse! How we suffer for it, long for it, even perish for it! It is the one element that beautifies the existence of the Men, yet to me it seems ever the punishment for us, the immortal Elves. It was love that drove my grandsire Fëanor to possess the Light of the Two Trees, which __became the undoing of my kin. It was love that drove me to destroy myself into two for my sister Vanië. It was love that made me conceal my identity from Thranduil and betray his trust. Love is blind, it is cruel, and it knows no boundaries. It would ruin me once more, for I knew the difficult choice that lay before Thranduil. If he chose me, he would lose his kingdom, and that would be a loss so very devastating to him. Already he felt as if Eryn Galen had slipped from his grasp, but when the severing would be permanent and real, there would be no power on Arda to keep him bound; he would fade into Mandos' Halls. If he chose his kingdom, he would lose me, the one lady he truly loved, one who gave him so much joy and so much heartache. Either choice meant a loss of one element of his being he truly cherished. Nothing is worse than being played by love._

Arquen and Olwen watched as the figure of Vanimë approached them, sighing wistfully, running her hands along the cheeks of her frozen self, planting a kiss atop Thranduil's forehead. She stopped briefly before the form of Innas, patting his hand. Lastly, she considered the royal scribe, poised aside her unmoving body. Then she bowed deeply and vanished, leaving the Teleri alone.

_Of all the reasons for love, only one tie is the strongest, and that is to blood heritage. Amongst us Elves ancestral bonds are the deepest. It supersedes most everything else. This I knew well when I finally decided upon my course as either Amorith or Vanimë, and this __D__ínenven knew, as did Innas, yet most significantly Thranduil. I had known upon taking my first step out of the Golden Wood which love King Thranduil would choose; and my heart soared at long last…_

The beloved sound of Thranduil's deep and melodic voice punctuated the air, returning the flow of time back to its rightly course. Sounds came instantly back to Vanimë's hearing: the rushing of the stream over its rocky bed, leaves rustling, wind playing with the clothing of the Elves, and the quick breathing of the Sinda kneeling down before her. Color returned so drastically that Olwen and Arquen were awed as in one hundredth of a second everything that was mere black and white was infused with a palette so bright and glossy it took their very breath away. The eyes of Vanimë and Thranduil met once more, fresh tears shining for both. He leaned forward, placing his head beneath her breasts, ever so precisely over her abdomen. His arms flew up to envelop her waist, and beneath the fabric of her dress the former Mistress of Mirkwood felt his soft lips planting feathery kisses all across the girdling warmth of her thighs. Vanimë held the crown in her shaking heads, still poised above his head. Slowly, she raised it higher…

"It is with a saddened heart—"

"—the return of our King!"

Innas fell to the ground, covering his eyes in disbelief, grieving loudly at the decision. He had taken Vanimë's initial motion of raising the crown as the King's abdication. But the Noldo was cunning, for as soon as he had given her his back she had placed the crown upon its owner's rightful head. Dínenven had been the one to acknowledge her deed, cutting off the Captain. The devastated warrior watched as Vanimë knelt before his King, head bowed.

"We are reconciled, my good people. For there is no other place on Arda I would rather be than here with you. Let us now prepare for battle. _Glamhoth anglennol_ (Orcs are coming)! _Gurth a chyth vín_ (Death to our foes)!" Thranduil cried fiercely, the echo of the crowd piercing the day.


	33. Lingering Doubts

DISCLAIMERS/NOTES: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien; the rest is my creation. Apologies for the delay, been battling with severe writer's block. Elvish phrases from the site, _Council of Elrond_. All but the first Elvish phrases/words are Sindarin; the initial one is Quenyan. This story is about to end, but fear not, there will be a second installation. Enjoy.

**Lingering Doubts**

Prestachir flashed a triumphant grin at the Noldo. Several of Innas' men surrounded the noble and escorted him away. Dínenven bowed before the re-crowned Thranduil, his arms still tightly entwined around Vanimë's waist, golden head resting against her abdomen. His soft kisses were mingled with the warmth of his tears, and Vanimë closed her eyes, cherishing the moment. She moved her hands down, ever so slowly and uncertainly, until they rested against his cheeks. He tilted his face in response, indulging in the silkiness of her touch against his roughened skin. She felt as she always did to him, soft. He knew her better than anyone; the façade of impenetrable indifference she now displayed was simply that, a façade. No matter how unaffected she seemed, Thranduil knew she always broke inside. Ahead, the gathered crowd of nobles and commoners was dispersing, embarking to prepare for the upcoming battle. The royal scribe acknowledged Vanimë with a pert nod before leaving; only the Captain of Mirkwood remained with the Sinda and Noldo couple. Innas was on his knees on the forest ground, hands planted firmly over his emerald eyes, trying desperately to blot the scene before him from his vision. It could not be…

"But it is so."

He lifted his dark head, feeling the piercing steel-gray eyes of Vanimë assaulting him. She was glancing over her shoulder at him, her hands still caressing Thranduil's face, his head still buried beneath her bosom, arms enveloping her hips. The mind exchange was amid Innas and Vanimë.

"You, out of all who were gathered here, should have realized that there was no other solution than this. This matter required one to think with one's mind, not emotions, not the heart. A sacrifice was needed to keep the kingdom from severing. My debt has been finally paid."

"Why condemn yourself to a life without love?"

"Oh, but you are gravely mistaken. It was precisely out of love that I did this. Thranduil cannot survive without his people, his kingdom; you know this fact as well as I do, mayhap even more. His sire swore him to protect Eryn Galen, so long as his people remained faithful. And this they did. It was I who caused a disruption in his kingdom, and it is without me that he can survive."

She smiled solemnly at him through her silent tears.

"I could not bear for him to be torn as I am, to have to choose between what he has always known and believed in, or to cleave a part of himself, to be forever haunted. I did not have a choice in the matter, but he did, and he had to choose the better decision. His fate is not as mine, to be so fractured mentally and physically, but to be wholesome and secure. Perhaps he will at long last realize that I truly love him, that there is no other for me than himself."

King Thranduil lifted his golden head and peered from around Vanimë's form at Innas. The two men stared at each other long and hard, silently. The Sinda attempted to communicate something to the Silvan Captain, but the latter rose suddenly to his feet, bowing stiffly, saying, "With your permission, liege, I shall go to initiate arrangements for the approaching vile Dol Guldur army."

Both the Noldo and her former _melindo_ (male lover) watched Innas stride purposefully from the glade, dark head held high despite his internal pain. Vanimë was partially thankful for the Orcs that made their way towards them as a method for the warrior to release his frustration. She knew she was alone now with the King, and an uncomfortable silence settled over them. There was a slight fluttering of wings, and Maeglin and the dove, both of whom had been perched on her shoulders, flew deftly to neighboring trees, watching the pair below with bright beady eyes.

"I shall go…" Vanimë began after a lengthy period in which no one spoke, but Thranduil placed a firm steady hand on her arm, pulling her back towards him. He was standing now.

"_Am man theled_ (For what purpose/Why)?"

This single question he uttered was like a knife stabbed deep into her soul. She much preferred that it was indeed a knife that she felt penetrating her, not this one curiosity. His intent was pure; he truly desired to know where she would return to. However, the reason behind this inquiry was what tortured her. What did it matter where she went? He would have his kingdom, whole once again, without her presence disturbing it further. Time would heal old wounds, even ones as ancient as theirs. He would forget her as her sire had forgotten her, forget the pain and agony she had caused him, the shame of having been associated with her. She only sought now to find a quiet place, and spend the rest of her days in solitude in Middle-earth unto the ending of Time. Vanimë felt she had done all she could do in her life to right what errors she had made. To her, her debt to Mirkwood was finally cleared. Could Thranduil not allow her a dignified leave? If she divulged to him anything further, she feared her remaining sanity would disappear. To know he had knowledge of her residence meant he still had designs towards her. But the situation was clear as water; he no longer wished her to be with him, nor did he care about her well-being.

"To find my inner peace," she answered, avoiding his glance.

"When you could have so easily dethroned me? I heard your speech, and I know my people; they would have just as swiftly crowned you as they did pardoning me." Thranduil replied.

"It would never have passed as such, _aran_. I have never desired to rule, that aspiration was never in my mind. My only ambition is to live peacefully, with those I love, to never have to lie about and to myself. _Nae, sí na i veth, i veth naid bain_ (Alas, here at the end, the end of all things)!"

Here, she lifted her eyes to meet his sapphire gaze.

"It was never my intent to lie to you, to be the cause of so much pain and devastation. I was only afraid of losing you, of being alone eternally. And so I was selfish in my ways. Now that there is nothing that can be done to mend my errors, I sincerely apologize. I only hope I have repaired the damage I caused in your kingdom." Vanimë said. "So many regrets do I have, except for one matter. And that is that my heart still prefers you. I have truly loved you with all my spirit, and the joyous days we shared together shall remain forever engraved in my mind. My prayer is that my final action redeems me before your eyes, that you no longer judge me by my family ties."

"_Mas bedithach_ (Where will you go)?" Thranduil asked, for no sooner had she finished than she made to leave. "It is not safe for you to return to Lórien now. They are under attack too."

With a small smile, the Noldo turned back towards the Elven-King, bowing, saying, "I shall not return there just now, for though they are indeed under attack, they shall triumph. There remains one small matter at hand I must address. Time is of the essence, you need all the help possible."

Thranduil returned the gesture, stepping forward to stand directly in front of Vanimë.

"Verily, what was begun by the Noldo so very long ago, in the time of the Elves, has ended by the Noldo, in the time of the Men. You have proven more worthy of your Sindarin namesake than I have; I who was born a Sinda. If you remain to fight with my people and defend my land against its bitter enemies, I will hold the feud that has long been tumultuous void. But you must understand that I can no longer offer you what you desire. My place has always been with my people. For their sakes I cannot return to the pleasures we once had together. I am truly sorry."

Vanimë nodded, and Thranduil let out a sigh of relief, whispering a quick thankful prayer to the Valar. Ever since eavesdropping on her when she was addressing the crowd in the throne room, the King had been skeptical of her ploy. Could she have forgotten the animosity between them, the total lack of propriety on his part regarding her? Was she masquerading again, plotting her revenge on him so deftly and exact? The Noldor, particularly her family, were known for their cunning minds. When she had spoken of the Resolution, compelling his subjects to return to him, he had been certain she would skew it to her advantage, proclaim that his abandonment meant he held no claim of lordship over them. But he had been shocked to hear her words, humbled to hear the truthful passion in her voice. And yet, despite all that, the lingering wound of old ached again, forcing him to push past the present reality, and back into the festering doubtfulness that had been his wont of late. Was it all true; could she be earnest in her endeavors, did she truly want the kingdom repaired for his sake alone, out of her love and shame? Was her own guilt at her betrayal of his trust and ardor the driving force, as she claimed? He could not deny the fact that when she had started her speech off by saying she had returned to rule, his heart dropped to the cold stone cavern floor of his palace. In that moment he felt he could not suppress the cry that sat stifling in his throat, and he did not know what had stopped him from wrenching open the throne room doors and ending her self-proclaimed pain then and there. He knew now it was the Valar that had saved him from a most horrendous error had he proceeded with his wish. They were aiding him just as they were aiding her, and perhaps both of them would be redeemed.

Vanimë lowered herself to her knees, reaching into her boots to bring out a sheathed dagger, which she held upright in her palms, keeping her head bowed down low to the forest ground. It was the traditional semblance of offering one's life to protect the kingdom and her King that she had seen many a time in Eryn Galen, yet had never performed herself until this moment. Even during her time spent in Menegroth, the Noldo had been fought alongside King Elu Thingol's esteemed warriors, but he had not counted her as among his fighters. Despite his allowing her to dwell in his halls, though she was not from among Finarfin's people (the only group of Noldor the Sinda ruler allowed within his abode), she knew he held a measure of uncertainty towards her and her sister Forfirith. Upon hearing of the destruction of Doriath, she grieved for her inability to find a way to stop her fathers and uncles, for her cowardice at hiding behind a false identity. Now, on her knees in the forest of Eryn Galen, with a living survivor of Doriath standing before her, the world seemed to have come full circle. Here she was being accepted into the service of Thranduil with his full blessings, her true identity revealed, on condition to never dwell in Eryn Galen again. Finally she was gaining acceptance for who she was, at the cost of losing her heart. If there was one thing she learned from her family's mistakes it was that for what one wanted the most, there is a cost that must be paid in the end. And if she wanted herself whole, she had to let go of the one element that tore her apart the most, yet gave her a reason to live and not fade. So here it was: her salvation, her redemption, not only to clear her name, but to erase all the evil of her family. It was not a blood offering, but rather a purging of her soul and mind of its dearest. As she gazed into Thranduil's sapphire eyes, her heart broke anew, hoping for the final time.

"_Aran_ Thranduil, do you accept this, my humble self, as an offering of service, by token of my weapon?" she whispered quietly, yet her manner of speech was determined.

She felt his fingers first, rough and worn, yet gentle, take her hands into his and caress them. The offered token dagger slipped from her grasp and was neglected. A long forgotten chill awoke, originating from her toes, making its way docilely and icily up her spine, and finally into the tips of her fingers. Slowly Vanimë raised her gray eyes to look into his sapphire gaze, half expecting the feel of his strong lips on her mouth, his tongue greedily seeking the sweet recesses of her orifice that he so loved and could never satisfy himself of. But the kiss never came, to her slight disappointment. She had set the direction of their new association, and he had followed suit immediately. Was this how he viewed her now, devoid of warmth and emotion towards him, bent on her redemption only? Did her words mean nothing to him? True, he had professed his due apology at not being able to reclaim her as his own, to take her former place as Mistress of his Mirkwood, but to her it had seemed as empty and hollow as a log. There had been no instilled emotion behind the words…they were simply sounds vocalized into meaningful connotations. So she watched silently, dying on the inside, as he raised her hands ever so carefully to his lips and brushed them across her skin, the movement which was once erotic and pleasurable, now as cold and disgracing to her as her Noldo ancestry was to Thranduil. Vanimë felt broken beyond repair.

"I accept. May all your coming days be in defense of this great land against all her enemies, the known and unknown, physical or otherwise," Thranduil said, releasing her hands suddenly. "And should you perish in your endeavors, know that your oaths will be held fulfilled."

Sea-gray eyes met sapphire ones, and both Thranduil and Vanimë looked away from each other, he clearing his throat loudly, and she replaced her dagger into her boot. Her dark head kept low, she rose stiffly to her feet, bowed swiftly, and left the glade at long last. Vanimë's footsteps were trudging, her gait like that of one caught up in a haze. Once she was out of his strong line of vision she allowed herself to drop unceremoniously onto the dark forest floor, weeping at her simultaneous joy and pain. She would be redeemed at the cost of forfeiting her very soul. The Noldo was uncertain of this price; for too long she had lived with her spirit cloven in two, how would she now go on with the very core of her being gone? Why was there always a cost to pay? Why did he still hesitate? The manner in which he enveloped her around her waist, the softest kisses mingled with his tears, what did all that amount to? She did not think it was an act on his part meant to deceive her, for she knew him better than that. In one thing only Thranduil did not deceive, and that was his genuine display of emotion and affection. The tearful embrace was real.

Meanwhile, Thranduil stood deserted in the glade, his mind reeling with the latest events and situations. Only a few hours prior he had been ready to abdicate his throne, to shamefully beg his former subjects to forgive his arrogance and foolishness. He had led them directly into a massacre needlessly, and they out of their love for him followed innocently. Apologies could not bring back their loved ones whose spirits now resided in the Halls of Mandos, undoubtedly waiting for his judgment to pass. He wondered if they felt as he did, when Doriath was destroyed because it housed an accursed Silmaril, unwary victims caught in the midst of a heated feud. None of this would have come to pass if Amorith—if _Vanimë_—had not come to Eryn Galen. But the thought lingered a few moments before it dissipated, replaced with the memory of her speech to his people in the throne room, urging them to not abandon him as he did when he retreated into himself. Her passionate and honest appeal to them that he had not nullified his duties as their King, that he was lost and needed them desperately, that they needed him even more…none of this he could ignore or dismiss as trifling. It was not trifling, it was largely significant. Vanimë sought to repent from her betrayal of his trust, of his love, to repair the damage she indirectly caused, which he was to blame for. He admitted this to himself now, here in the desolate glade, whispered it aloud to the formidable trees surrounding him, "She was not the cause; I was. There never was, nor will there be, another lady whom I shall love as I do Vanimë. _Gerich veleth __nín_".

There was a rustle in the branches above, and looking up he saw the hawk take flight, leaving behind the dove. The beautiful alabaster creature cocked its head at him carefully before daintily spreading its own wings and landing unto his outstretched hand. The King held his breath, for he had not seen a dove since the days before the Shadow touched his lands, during the time Vanimë dwelled with him. Taking the bird as an omen of good fortune, he reached out to kiss it, but the dove lowered its head unto his palm, closing its black glossy eyes. Serenity filled the King, and when he looked down, the dove was gone, but there in the middle of his palm were two tears, and the salty liquid burned through the coarseness of his skin, leaving behind minute red marks.

The feeling of peace passed instantly, and the overwhelming darkness filled his thoughts anew. Sudden panic seized him as he wondered if Vanimë was masquerading, that the help she said she would bring to him was a legion under her command to overtake his kingdom. Hurriedly the Sinda rushed from the glade, desperate to oversee preparations of his army.


	34. Final Battles

DISCLAIMER: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien; the rest is my creation. _Council of Elrond_ website used for Elvish phrases.

**Final Battles**

Vanimë threw the hood of her cloak over her face as she dashed through the forest, heading towards the palace. Her heart raced so rapidly that her chest felt as if it was constricting, and she longed to pierce her breast, to rid herself of this alarming sensation. The very air felt as if it was not enough, that it was suffocating her, not rejuvenating as its wont. She stopped before the silver gates, and it seemed an eternity passed before they swung open silently before her, and as she walked through them silently, admitting herself to be engulfed by the steel structure she once imbued, a slight fear returned anew. What if the gates reflected the new position Eryn Galen had towards her, that she was no longer welcome now that the kingdom's rift had been sealed? Was she now deemed so harmful to the King and his people? Her breathing, which already was stifled because of her feeling of suffocation, was altogether obsolete for the few seconds it took her to pass between the opened gates. Her gray eyes travelled up their length, and for one long moment it appeared that they changed in form, becoming a sinister trap that would bar her out of the cavern-palace forever more. Was this what the kingdom's enemies came upon? For all the simplicity of the _Tawarwaith_, their King had been wise to implement such a barrier. But the moment was over; the gates remained opened to admit her, and she passed through them without coming to any harm or being forced out. A sudden thought then came to her, as she remembered the words she had spoken to Innas the previous night, which already seemed like an eon ago, _"__By the grace of the Valar, I was able to enchant the gate, so that it would not allow any who desire to harm the King or his people to pass. So long as I live, the gate will hold, for in doing so I had to part with some semblance of myself: it is my love that gives power to the gate. That is the only reason I believe you and I passed—that we hold no ill will against the King"_.

Vanimë halted, the last words of this memory dying in her mind. She had forgotten about that occurrence, forgotten its significance. True, she had imbued the gate, but only after obtaining the permission from the King; therefore her protection is validated by the Elven-king himself. Thranduil needed her enhanced magic to finish the fortification enchantment. Together, their combined powers provided the protection surrounding the cavern-palace. It was not simply her own doing, as might have been inferred in her response to Innas. Yet, on the same token, without her the gates would not be fully imbued. She wondered now why he did not attempt wresting her spell off the gate, effectively barring her from entrance into the kingdom. If he truly deemed her a threat to his people he would have done that, but this inaction further proved he still loved her. His embrace only half an hour ago embodied this very feeling that he did not verbalize to her in so many centuries, despite the many times he showed in some manner that he did in fact still care for her. Why did he present two conflicting scenarios to her? Why did he still persist in telling her he loved her, only to shun her away the next instant? Did her sacrifices mean nothing to him?

As the Noldo stewed with these thoughts in her mind, an old familiar demeanor came over her, and before she could stop herself, the harsher voice of Amorith spoke.

"Here you are, broken and humiliated, worse than the time when you were forced to watch the Kinslaying in Alqualondë. Only now there is no one to stand by you. Forfirith has deserted you in Fangorn. Galadriel sent you here, to rid her realm of your threat. Even your precious _ernil_ (prince) Legolas went to join the Council and then the Fellowship. Has it not ever occurred to you that no one loves you, that you are truly alone? Thranduil claims he loves you still, yet even he has thrown you away when the first chance presented itself, without even looking back."

Vanimë was frightened, not because of the return of this side of her, but of the manner in which it was presented. It was not her usual protective side; it was tainted with a darkness she did not possess nor recognize. She stood just inside the gates, on the edge of the black forest beyond. The shadows were so thick now that she could not see past the first line of trees. A cold wind blew from the south, making her shiver despite the warm cloak she donned. She felt herself becoming increasingly despaired and worried. It was a feeling she had not felt before.

"I am not broken, nor am I humiliated. I have just achieved what I have strived for all my life: acceptance for who I am. I can now call myself by my true name, Vanimë, without fear of any repercussion. I have earned my redemption in the eyes of the one I love, and before the Valar," she answered this fell voice that originated from her, but was not of her. "I will not listen to these poisonous lies. Though I stand alone, I know there are those who care for me. I am satisfied."

There was a pause as Vanimë spoke her reply aloud to herself, her tone confident yet quiet. Those suspicions had passed through her mind before, but now they were rooting themselves deeply, taking ahold amidst the confusion and pain. She needed to end them now…

"You tell yourself this repeatedly, but to no avail. You have sacrificed yourself continually, and what payment did you ever receive? When Forfirith was weak, you held her up, guided her through the dark days; and what did she do for you? She abandoned you for Fangorn Forest. In Doriath you fought for Elu Thingol, and what was his response except to ever consider you with suspicion and banning Quenya, your beloved native tongue? And Galadriel, who you claim is your beloved kinswoman…she sent you as the sacrificial lamb on behalf of not solely her realm, but all Elven realms. What better way to end the most painful rift in all Elvendom than to offer up the descendant of the one who stirred all the unrest as a concession? Do not let her pretty speech enchant you as it does others' weak minds. She never once cared for your well-being, never appreciated your efforts as a member of the Marchwardens. She only ever sought to be rid of you. And Thranduil, from the start he has never viewed you as anything but a traitor. You had to lie to yourself, suppress your soul, because of him. And even now, after you have saved his kingdom from ruin, he disregards you coldly and callously. Why must you always place yourself last, beneath the feet of others to be trodden upon as they desire? Why must you live as if you are two separate people? Why alone? His deeds to you were worse than the sundering of your father from his house, his casting you out into the cold harsh night like rabid dogs. Verily, for just once Vanimë, show those that harmed you the most your wrath and fury, your mercilessness! Show them that the Noldor do not lightly forgive or forget the ancient wounds! Destroy Mirkwood and you will destroy Thranduil!" the slithery voice came out of her mouth, assaulting her spirit.

For the third time this morning, Vanimë found herself on the forest ground, a pitiful image of nobility and pride demolished. Her breathing was again erratic as she gasped for air in between anguished sobs. The level of viciousness in which her fears were being portrayed was too much for her to handle, especially coming from her voice. But she knew it was not her entirely; the Darkness that was spreading had finally penetrated her. She had witnessed its effect on Isildur in the First Age, observed how he had disregarded all the warnings and borne the Bane that would later become his namesake until it left him to his death; the very token he died for was the cause of the War in which his own father had perished. She had seen a different darkness as well, the darkness which swallowed up her family, leaving her and her sister Forfirith—disconnected. Now these two shadows, one a true Darkness, the latter more an air of arrogance than anything else, merged together, birthing into the Noldo lady a new dimension of her fears. The last words were the harshest on her, the ones that tore her wounds apart more deeply and bled them afresh. For all her sacrifices, all her deeds, she remained apart from everyone else. Not even Forfirith was this isolated; she at least had the company of the Ents, she truly was Mistress there. Of all the times Vanimë had verbally accosted her sister of hiding in the ancient forest, deep down she felt jealousy. It was Vanië, not Vanimë, who had accepted her fate and found a niche to settle into. It was Vanimë, not Vanië, who moved from one place to another, brooding over her pains. It was Vanimë, in the end, who was alone. Even Thranduil had his kingdom and people now.

As she lay thusly, wrapped in her emotions and fears, she felt a strong presence envelop her, and the scent of the mallorn trees assailed her senses. Her eyes were closed, yet she could see clearly everything before her. Haldir lay next to her, his broad shoulders against her chest, his arms locked around her waist as he kissed her tenderly. It was the night she had spent with Haldir in the guard talan, the night she had exposed herself to him, and he had professed himself to her. It felt as real to her now as it did then, and this memory-self of hers moaned in response to his kiss. She was connected with him in the same manner she once was connected with Thranduil, when he had called out to her over a fortnight ago, the very connection that led her to seek refuge in the strong arms of Haldir. This realization struck her suddenly, but her vulnerability and need was too great for her to linger on it in the present moment. She writhed under Haldir's touch as he moved a hand down her body, gliding his weathered fingertips from her neck onto her bosom.

"_If there is no one that will stand by your side, I will always be there for you. This is all that I want you to know: you may come to me whenever you need anything."_

The words of Haldir came back to her true self, slowly passing through the ears of this memory-self into her mind to be processed. Then a third form of her appeared, and it was through this third form that she absorbed all that was occurring. This was a new sensation for her, to be hovering over her memory-self—enveloped in Haldir's arms—and her real body—laying on the forest floor of Mirkwood—while observing from a third aura. She had heard of instances like these occurring to those who had been pushed to their limit, on the brink of shattering. Was this what was happening to her now? Had she been pushed so far out that she could no longer even recognize herself? Which one of these three forms was her, if any at all? Had she voyaged to Mandos' Halls and was now paying her debt? She knew no answers, and the questions kept increasing. Only Haldir's words resonated in her mind along with the questions, his velvety voice anchoring her to the reality of her world amidst her present situation.

"I am not alone…" Vanimë whispered slowly, watching her memory-self enjoying Haldir's caresses while her real body began to raise itself off the forest ground.

"What did you say?"

Vanimë felt a presence approach. She found herself suddenly staring at her face, but it was not hers entirely. There was nothing but cruelty and hardness about this presence, and the white light that emanated from it was not that of the fair Trees, but fell and empty. The gray eyes staring back at her were as lifeless and cold as the steel gates she had just passed through. All of her features were twisted, so that whatever was pleasant to look upon was now riddled with hatred. The singular element she recognized in this presence was the pain that burned deeply within. It was the pain, Vanimë realized, that emanated from her. It was as if a rift had split her, so that she was looking at her direct opposite—all of the hatred, hardness, and mercilessness combined. This was what she would have become had she harkened to her grandsire Fëanor's call like her own father, Caranthir. It is what she will become if she did not reign in her anger and pain, if she did not realize that all this was naught but a front to weaken her further.

As Vanimë spoke these words to her alter dark side, she felt empowered. Strength and hope returned anew amidst her internal conflicts. The shadows haunting her lifted ever so slowly.

"I have Haldir's love, and Innas' strength. Míriel believes in me; she sacrificed herself because of her belief." Vanimë spoke, each word giving her renewed confidence.

But her alter-self would have none of this, and with a snort and toss of that well-known brunette head, the reply came back almost immediately with such sinisterly affect.

"Haldir's love? You mean to refer to those words he spoke to you that night in the guard talan? Have you not forgotten his words after, when he doubted your accord to him, when you had to reassure him of your promise? If he truly loved you he would have found a means to prohibit your venture into Mirkwood. Instead, he stepped aside and let you march into what was very nearly your death! Haldir's love! Haldir's love is naught but false words amidst the hollowness that fills your life! Why has he never tried to reach you during your stay here?"

The rebuke was a severely devastating blow to Vanimë. She watched her memory-self struggle in the now vice-like grip of Haldir as he tried to force himself upon her, while her true body-self slipped back onto the leaf-littered forest floor of Mirkwood. Tearfully, the Noldo turned towards her alter, feeling her chest constricting again as her breathing renewed its former erratic course.

"Stop, I beg you! Why must you defile the purity of everything?" she cried.

The alter-self threw a momentary pitiful look at Vanimë before erupting into hideous laughter.

"I am not defiling anything you poor, blind, childish, fool; I am simply showing you those truths and realities you have either failed to see, or chose to ignore. Haldir only wants you for carnal reasons. If he truly valued your love for Thranduil, he would not have professed what he had professed, nor allowed you to rest alongside him that night. As for the others you named—Innas and Míriel—again you have been deceived, whether by your own doing or merely because you did not know. Innas only desired your return so you could save the kingdom, and Míriel wanted to remain with you because that maiden is helpless; she needed someone to guide and protect her. And now that their unborn child was lost, they both have more reason to hate you. Everyone blames you for all the unrest and turmoil within Mirkwood; no one trusts you. You fought for them, almost perished for them many a time, and it was all for naught. Your only answer is revenge—revenge for all the hurts you and Forfirith were put through; revenge for the centuries of isolation and respect that you are duly owed, and is justly yours by right."

Vanimë was openly sobbing now, her normally composed features contorted into despair. All three of her true forms (the memory, body, and latent observer) converged together, so that she hit the solid forest floor with a thud, her head jarring against a jagged rock. She felt something warm seeping down her scalp, and when she reached shaky pale fingers upwards onto her hair then back down before her blurry eyes, they were covered with her blood. A whimper rose from her throat, mingling with her ongoing sobs. The Noldo was aware of this alter presence of hers still present, and as her senses became muddled, she felt it touch her face with a cold caress.

"Rest well, my sweet darling, and embrace your death…"

Vanimë felt her body spasm slightly as she struggled to raise her head for the final time. Her vision was blackened now; her mental processes were almost obsolete. The blood had soaked through most of her; she was vividly aware of it pooling down her face, seeping into her clothes. With one lingering bout of strength, Vanimë finally managed to whisper, "Please…help…me…"


	35. The Shadows' Calls

NOTES/DISCLAIMERS: As usual anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien; the rest is my creation. Noldor/Teleri traditions noted are strictly made up; any resemblance to factual customs written by Tolkien is coincidental. _Tolkien Gateway_ and _Council of Elrond _sites referenced. Lyrics of the following songs adjusted slightly: _Beautiful Love—The Afters; Frozen—Madonna_. The italicized portion of the story is Amorith/Vanimë's narration. One more chapter left, then perhaps an epilogue. A line borrowed from _Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring._

**The Shadows' Calls**

Alqualondë was the birthplace of Olwen. It was the main city of the Teleri. After having reached Valinor, many refused to journey onwards to Aman. The Vala Ulmo, after much persuasion, anchored the island in the bay of Eldamar, where the Teleri lived peacefully for many eons until the First Kinslaying. It was here in Alqualondë that Olwen knew her most happiest and treasured days, before she wedded Caranthir. Likewise, it was here in Alqualondë that the mother of sisters Vanimë and Vanië knew her darkest days. Olwen recalled the first time she had seen Caranthir, standing tall and proud alongside his sire, Fëanor. Their dark hair contrasted greatly against the pale luminescence of the pearl halls of her father's home. They had come seeking purchase of pearls; her sire was the largest supplier of these most precious commodities in Alqualondë. In return, they offered other valuable tokens—opals, diamonds, and emeralds that they had obtained from mining. There was nothing neither too small nor too great in the way of handiwork that escaped Fëanor. He would just as eagerly mine jewels as he would set to fashion a new item of his interest and design. There was no denying the fact that he had earned the title and prestige of being the unsurpassed craftsmen of the Noldo, arguably of all the Eldar. Olwen had a love of emeralds; she spent time arranging them perfectly to her delight in the pools and on the beaches of Elende. So it was no surprise to her that these most noble and princely Noldor were once more present in her father's study, the three men busy negotiating the trading of the prized jewels. She smiled to herself at the sound of her father's voice; he often complained how stingy the Noldor were in payment, yet demanded the highest value and quality gems. She was eavesdropping, and at the sound of footsteps moving closer to the door, she rushed to the staircase, feigning a normal composure. She dared not look back towards the door, for she knew her cover would be given away. She would not be able to maintain a neutral face; something would betray her.

It was not something she could forget, nor did she ever, even to this very moment. The sound of a throat clearing softly followed by a subtle cough alerted her to the presence of one of the male Noldor. Ever so slightly, she turned from her place on the fifth step of the staircase. A flash of a dark blue tunic, in the style of the Noldor, paired with brown leggings and maroon boots, told her it was Caranthir. She pretended not to notice, however, and lifted her skirts up daintily to ascend the tightly spiraling stairs when a melodic voice rose in song. She was hidden from view by a slender pole, and wondered if Caranthir knew she was present. His voice was eerily enchanting, and the words made her anxious, though she did not know why.

"Far away, I feel your beating heart  
All alone, beneath the crystal stars  
Staring into space, what a lonely face

I will try to find my place with you

What a beautiful smile  
Can I stay for awhile  
On this beautiful night  
We will make everything right  
My beautiful love

Larger than the moon, my love for you  
Worlds collide, as heaven pulls us through  
The secret of the world is written in the stars  
I am carrying your heart in mine

What a beautiful smile  
Can I stay for awhile  
On this beautiful night  
We will make everything right  
My beautiful love

Maybe a great thing will happen  
Maybe all will see  
Maybe our love will catch like fire  
As it burns through me

What a beautiful smile  
Can I stay for awhile  
On this beautiful night  
We will make everything right  
My beautiful love"

Later, Olwen would know that she had been courted by Caranthir, and this song was the first of many he would sing to serenade her, in the traditional manner of Noldor courtship. Their life was blissful then; he would do business alongside his sire, and she would covet the jewels he brought back, adorning their home with it. She no longer dwelled in Alqualondë, but rather in Tirion, the main city of the Noldor. She missed her home for the sea; though Tirion was white-walled as her home was, it had no sea. Yet the bliss turned into dread, for beneath Caranthir's exterior was his wrath and anger she had not seen before. When the first of Melkor's lies seeped into the peace of Valinor, Caranthir stood with his father. His outrage and temper surprised her, and she tried ever more to be kinder to him, gentler and sweeter. At night when he took her, he ravaged her body so that for a few days after she was sore and weak. Both of their daughters, who once could not be separated from their sire, now shrank away from him. Vanimë ever argued with him, but being of like countenance this had no effect on him, but further enraged him. Caranthir no longer cared for his family as he once did, choosing instead to spend more and more time in the poisonous company of Fëanor. As the Shadow of Melkor grew, so did the distance between Caranthir and his family, until the day Olwen found herself back in Alqualondë. It was not as she imagined it, a most joyful occasion and reunion with her own family; rather it was one of dire sorrow as she watched her dear city burn, its inhabitants fleeing from the attacking Noldor, Caranthir included.

Vanimë felt the sting of the sea-water as she was pushed rudely forward by her sire onto the docks. Behind her, her sister wept openly, clinging to her mother's side. Further ahead, nearest to the ships, stood Fëanor. His dark hair blew towards his face, covering his fearsome features, yet his voice, fell and deadly, carried over to them, crying out for vengeance, defying the Valar in such vain pride and arrogance. She glanced back towards the fair city of Alqualondë, towards the direction of her mother's family's house, hoping and praying that they were safe, that no harm had come to them. Another sharp push from her father jolted her out of her prayer, and she threw him a deadly glare, but he did not heed her attention. Instead, he had planted himself beside his wife, who stood immobile on the docks, shaking her head and openly praying against the Noldor.

Vanië followed suit, though as soon as her father approached she ceased her prayers. Caranthir, enraged at his own family's betrayal, reached out a hand, slapping both his wife and younger daughter on their fair faces. He then grabbed them both by their hair and began half-pulling half-dragging them towards the ship from where Fëanor beckoned. But he was not entirely successful, for Olwen had mustered strength enough to remove his hand, and she ran a short distance back before pulling out a slender dagger, holding it at her husband as he advanced towards her.

"You dare to raise a weapon against me?" Caranthir seethed.

"I see no reason not to; since you and your family are Kinslayers, I may as well do the same." she replied back evenly, an unnatural calm and cool about her.

This new tone made Caranthir Fëanorion take notice of his wife. She had never been thus, retorting back and putting up a front. She was defiant now, and he did not need complications.

"Come with me, my wife. I will not lay a hand against you." he said.

"The damage is done. I will not follow you anymore. You have laid many hands against me, for in attacking my city, you have slain my kin. And this I shall not forgive. I am not Noldo, though I wedded you. I did not partake in any Oath; therefore I am not bound to follow. I have loved you even when your mind was taken, even when you assaulted me physically and verbally. Yet here ends our journey together. I only wish I can save you from the future, for I fear for you greatly." the Teleri lady replied. "You recall how you sang to me for the very first time, as is your Noldor tradition of courting? As a Teleri, I am required to lament our parting, for to me it is a death."

Vanimë would never forgot this last time she would see her mother, standing alone on the docks, dagger bared towards her father, silver tears falling down her face as she sang to him:

"You only see what your eyes want to see  
How can life be what you want it to be  
You are frozen  
When your heart is not open

You are so consumed with how much you get  
You waste your time with hate and regret  
You are broken  
When your heart is not open

Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, if I could melt your heart  
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, we would never be apart  
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, give yourself to me  
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, you are the key

Now there is no point in placing the blame  
And you should know I suffer the same  
If I lose you  
My heart will be broken

Love is a bird, she needs to fly  
Let all the hurt inside of you die  
You are frozen  
When your heart is not open

Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, if I could melt your heart  
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, we would never be apart  
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, give yourself to me  
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, you are the key

You only see what your eyes want to see  
How can life be what you want it to be  
You are frozen  
When your heart is not open

Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, if I could melt your heart  
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, we would never be apart  
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, give yourself to me  
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, you are the key

Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, if I could melt your heart  
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, we would never be apart  
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, give yourself to me  
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, you are the key

If I could melt your heart"

Caranthir stood rooted to the spot as he watched Olwen back away slowly from him. He felt something change in him, a slight lifting of the darkness that had stolen over him of late. Olwen had been his greatest joy, and he loved her deeply. It broke him that she was deserting him now, but his allegiance to his father was stronger. Just as quickly, his wrath returned, and he cursed at Olwen, at the day she had come into his life. His daughters were Noldor, and they would follow him. Both of them were huddled by their mother, and the trio of females was sobbing quietly, saying their farewells. Caranthir dragged his daughters away amidst their protests, never looking back towards his wife, who stood there on the burning dock, amongst her slain Teleri kin, watching as they boarded the great ship and set sail, leaving the Blessed Realm forever.

_This memory from my younger years came back to me as I lay on the leaf-strewn ground of Mirkwood's forest. Of all the memories, this one was buried the deepest, for it held so many feelings for me. Anger, of course, but not mostly at my father; rather it was directed towards my mother. There was no legitimate reason for her to have abandoned my sister and me; she had no excuse. Over the course of the eons I lost my softer side as Amorith became my new life. I had no choice; I had to look after Vanië and she needed someone strong. I lost the things that were the most beautiful about me, that I cherished the most about myself: my love of dance and song, my arbitrary nature, my desire to for travel. I know she left because she could not handle the way my father had become, but what about her daughters? Did she not have an obligation towards us? We were not children, yet we were still young, still easily malleable. We could have succumbed to the malice of the Oath just as easily as my sire and his father did. Nothing was certain then._

_It is often looked back upon in the lore of the ancient Eldar that the most evil deed done was the taking of the Oath by the House of Fëanor_._ I have always regarded another deed, much lesser known and very private, as being of equal rank. My mother's repudiation of my sister and me is also an evil deed. From that we learned how even the supposedly strongest ties of blood and kinship can be severed, something the Elves have ever prided themselves upon. We learned to ever mistrust those we came into contact with. Love was something we did not firmly believe in, and even after Thranduil had professed himself to me in Doriath I was quite skeptical. It took me many years to believe him. So when he cast me out of his realm, the pain was very unbearable. I was wounded for life from Valinor, and my time in Middle-earth increased my suffering._

_Now, bleeding to death from my head wound, the memories of my life swirled past me, blending into a kaleidoscopic image that I could not quite recognize anymore. The touch of my alter-self was beginning to feel soothing; the cold was fading away into a numbness I found relieving. I had served my purpose in Mirkwood, my life was complete. With the War ongoing, I had no reason to continue. There was no purpose any longer for me. If Sauron won, we would all be destroyed. If the Fellowship succeeded, the time of the Elves would be over. From the start of the Second Age the Elves were already disillusioned with Middle-earth, spent from the years of the Oath and the war against Morgoth. The Men had slowly risen. But now, if this War was won, there truly would be an end of the Elves' dominion here in this accursed land. Most, if not all, of the remaining edhil (elves) would sail West, leaving this world behind. I wondered how many would miss it, how many would regret not having set sail earlier. Who would not miss it?_

_As these thoughts slowly died in my mind and the memories faded, I became aware of a strong scent of earth. So, I was finally being buried, being laid to rest in the dirt of Eryn Galen. Would Thranduil consider my grave a desecration to his lands? Would Vanië even know and miss me?_

She was found lying on the forest floor, her blood pooled around her. She was face down in the ground, and when turned over, her hands were pressed tightly against her chest, over her heart. There was a look of sadness upon her face, and Míriel's heart broke to see the expression.

"She died alone, in despair." cried the Silvan maiden. "How terrible, how she must have felt!"

The healer who had tended her pushed aside the hysterical maiden, feeling the Noldo's pulse. It was weak, and quite thready. The injury on her head was not deep, but the amount of blood lost was quite alarming. Pursing her lips together, the healer raised a hand to stop the wailing singer.

"She is not dead, yet, but she needs my attention now. Carry her carefully inside to the healing rooms, making sure to support her head and neck. Place immense pressure on the wound here with this gauze. I will need donors for blood." the healer said quietly. "Hold on," she whispered, bending over Vanimë as she was being lifted. "Please, my lady, do not go yet…"

Míriel stood and watched as the princess was taken away inside the palace. She was very devastated at having arrived too late. The healer was wrong, there was no time left. Vanimë was dead; nothing could save her now. It was wrong that she had perished alone, wrong that she had been mistreated by Thranduil. If there was anyone who should not have died alone, it was her. Yet Míriel's tears of despair and regret would not bring Vanimë back. She had called out, and Míriel had heard her, heard her desperate plea for help from her own reverie. Her own maid had held her back, repeating over and over again that Lady Amorith had given her very specific instructions, that war had come. "And what use is it to hide away from death? You cannot defeat death!" Míriel had replied, pushing her aside and unlocking the door, running through the halls. She had no notion of where Amorith was, only followed an intuition. As the maiden ran through the halls, she noticed the grim faces of the people, and the hurrying of guards and soldiers. Had Dol Guldur at last assailed them? Where was Innas in all this?

Something silver glinted in the dirt, and bending down Míriel saw a brooch lying in the dirt. Undoubtedly it belonged to Vanimë, and if she was correct in her assumption the brooch was shaped as a mallorn leaf of the fair Golden Wood that she had dreamed of visiting. But there was no more dreaming now, only praying. Sauron's army was here, and war was the new reality. The maiden clenched her hand holding the brooch into a fist, releasing fresh tears anew.

"What can a poor simplistic maiden like me do in the face of this horror? I have never fought, and even the training I took under Innas' watch to wield a bow was unsuccessful. I am so helpless. I desire greatly to help protect my home, but how?" she cried aloud.

There was a rustle in the leaves, and a figure stepped out. Míriel managed to stifle a scream, for there before her stood Vanimë. Gone was the gash from her head, and the blood. The Noldo held out a hand towards the Silvan maiden, raising her to her feet, saying, "Even the smallest person can change the course of the future."


	36. Pleas for Help

NOTES/DISCLAIMERS: Only those elements that are not recognizable belong to me; the rest are Tolkien's. _Council of Elrond_ website referenced.

**Pleas for Help**

Míriel stared at the figure of Vanimë before her, not comprehending anything. She had seen the Noldo only moments before face down in the forest ground, her crimson blood pooled about her body, leaking slowly from the gash upon her head. Vanimë had not responded, had not even stirred as she was tenderly taken up and rushed grimly into the healing chambers. Had she woken along the way? The healer had mentioned blood donors; why had Míriel not volunteered? If the donors were found, the process took time—so who was this person? Was this person even real? The Silvan maiden chided herself reputedly. Events were occurring too fast for her mind.

"Many questions you have, young one, and all will be revealed in due time," the figure said.

Míriel furrowed her brow. This manner of speech was unlike Vanimë. The former Mistress of Mirkwood had excellent command of speech, that was not the issue, yet the prose and choice of words was not hers. As the maiden peered carefully at the figure of Vanimë, the Noldo took her hand in hers and led her on gently with a tug. The scenery of Eryn Galen faded, and at once was filled with trees of immense height. Their bark was silvery-gray, with golden leaves that fell lazily to the ground below. The shape of the leaves was familiar, and looking down at the brooch in her free hand, the shape and pattern was similar. Realization dawned upon the maiden.

"Mallorn trees, these are the _mellyrn_ (plural mallorn)!" Míriel cried. "Is this not Lórien?"

Beside her the figure nodded, a small smile on her lips, but offered no other support. The maiden continued to be led along by her hand, drinking in the foliage surrounding her greedily. Though a bit aloof, she did not let the fact slip from her mind that she had only moments ago been in her forest home, kneeling on her knees in the dirt, lamenting Vanimë's death. Now she was being pulled along by her in another realm. Had Míriel somehow transgressed different worlds; was she now going to Mandos' Halls in Valinor? Had her grief been that passionate? These questions and many more lingered unvoiced for the present time. For now she would go where she was led.

From afar, the maiden spied a faintly shimmering glow. It was pale, even translucent, filling the rest of this new forest with ghostly silver light. From that general direction of this unearthly light, Míriel heard the soft trickle of water flowing, and realized that there was a waterfall which fed a small stream. There was a splash, and it appeared that someone, or something, was utilizing the waterfall. Vanimë tugged her hand a little, urging her to hurry, and the two women darted over the green lawn. The trees now were sparser as they approached the waterfall, and as they both came to a halt the Silvan maiden learned of the source of the intrusion. A tall lady stood in the water, the hem of her dress trailing precariously above the surface, held up by one hand, while with the other she held a beautiful silver vessel, collecting the falling water. Her hair was golden, and it fell unbraided down her back, cascading in waves. She stood positioned so that she saw the two approaching women, and a moment of silent greeting seemed to pass between Vanimë and this new third person. Míriel felt her hand suddenly released as Vanimë went to stand beside this golden-haired lady. An exuding sense of power and majesty emanated from her, and the maiden felt an overwhelming urge to bow. As she inclined her head, the lady's eyes pierced her own and a sudden fear filled her. This lady could read her soul, and it petrified her.

"_Man le_ (who are you)?" she asked quietly.

The lady said nothing. She waited until her vessel was filled before moving slowly out from the waterfall. A basin stood on a hewn tree stump, and she let the water fall into it from her vessel. Vanimë remained where she was, letting the cool water soak into her clothing. She stood as if oblivious to this fact, her gray eyes trained solely on the maiden. Míriel saw a glint from the corner of her eye, and looking back, noticed an interesting ring on one of the lady's fingers. This was the source of the eerily strange light; could it also be the source of her power? As the maiden lifted her head, she saw a nod from Vanimë at the lady, and a small calculating smile graced her features. She motioned for the maiden and the other Noldo to sit, indicated smaller hewn stumps on either side of the basin. All three women sat promptly, Míriel eyeing the others nervously.

"Forgive us for bringing you here in this manner; there was no other way," the lady began, her voice deeper than was wont for women. "There is precious little time left for Mirkwood."

"So I am not dead…" Míriel whispered.

The golden-haired lady shook her head.

"You are Vanimë though, are you not?" the maiden asked, directing herself at the darker head.

For response, the Noldo wordlessly rose to her feet and came to stand directly in front of the Silvan elf. Gracefully she lowered herself to the ground until she was eye-level with Míriel. At first the maiden was taken aback with this intimate contact, but she calmed herself enough to stare at the face before her. There were all of Vanimë's features: her gray eyes, the long brunette hair, the noble brow, full plump lips, and aquiline nose. Yet there was something different about her this time. Her manner was not the same; there was softness about her, a fragility that was foreign. Her eyes shone in a more kindly manner, without the undertones of pain and hurt. Her nose was not aquiline, but straighter. And she had dimples at the corners of her mouth.

"You are…" Míriel said, lost for words.

"I am Vanimë's sister, Vanië. You are in the Golden Wood. This is Lady Galadriel. Much have we both heard about you, how renowned a singer you are, and how greatly Vanimë loves you. We heard your plea for help, and we wish to aid you greatly. But you must listen to us quickly, for you know very well that time is of the essence now more than ever. More than Mirkwood is at stake here; the very life of my dearest sister Vanimë may be lost as well. We shall help you."

Míriel was unsure in that moment of what to think, let alone respond to the ladies. Her first instinct was to be wary of the Lady of Light, for within her inherent Silvan upbringing and her company with King Thranduil, the latter especially of late, a small voice in the back of her mind told her that this golden-haired beauty was not to be trusted. There was something sinister and guarded brewing in Galadriel, Míriel thought. She was far too stoic and reserved for her trust. She had not introduced herself, as was the manner of the Elves in her home. Vanië had done so. She had not even explained why, or how, she had been brought here. All that the maiden recalled was one moment kneeling in her forest home, and the next being pulled away by Vanië—who at first she thought was Vanimë. Nothing made sense to her; everything was muddled. This Lady of Light, as she was known, only cast her into the depths of darkness and confusion, not giving her any enlightenment. And what of Vanië, what was her part in all this? Dare she trust any of them?

She was vaguely aware of both of the older women's eyes trained on her, one pair of azure, and the other pair a sea-gray she found both familiar and haunting. The ladies turned to each other, as if in silent communication, and Vanië laid a hand on Galadriel's arm before the Lady spoke:

"You may judge us however you like, yet I urge you to leave aside your fears and anxieties and listen to what we have to say and offer to you. Mirkwood has seen the return of its King, unless he mobilizes his army and finds a way to break the Dol Guldur front, the kingdom will fall. You have wondered how you may be of service in the face of this onslaught, that what could one as yourself do? Never underestimate your own resolve, for when there is sincerity and a pure desire to do good, there is always a way. I see and have seen this countless times throughout history."

Her manner of speech was slower than usual, but this time her tone was kinder, and she looked at the maiden softly, as if she knew more about her than she would admit. Her words brought some comfort, hope, and renewed strength to Míriel. The maiden herself felt earlier when the Lady was staring at her that her very soul had been laid bare before her, that all her deeds and thoughts were open to Galadriel. Were all the Noldo possessed with such abilities?

"This feud of old does not aid anyone except for the Dark Lord. Come, my dear; there are events you have not witnessed during your resting time. While my kinswoman does not agree that this is a wise choice, I feel you are ready. Not only do I feel so, but you must know what has happened in your time of absence from the conscious world." Vanië said, rising to her feet.

Vanië felt more comforting to Míriel, safer. She did not seem to carry the burdens and troubles of eons past on her shoulders as did Vanimë, but in her gray eyes the Silvan maiden noticed something she could not fathom. It was perhaps her air of fragility that the maiden found familiar. Conversely, something about Galadriel exposed the weaknesses of all, and Míriel felt her own vulnerabilities ascend to the surface. Nothing could be hidden from Galadriel.

"Do not be frightened, child, come closer," Vanië urged, standing beside the silver basin. It glittered from the stirring of the crystal water in contained, which caught the moon's light and reflected it off its broken surface. Trying hard not to focus on the staring eyes of Galadriel, the maiden advanced timidly until she stood opposite the dark-haired woman. Vanië smiled at her reassuringly, and Míriel took a deep breath before lowering her eyes to look into the basin.

At first nothing occurred. The maiden noted her own reflection in the pristine water; she saw the frightened expression on her face, the gaunt look in her eyes, and the pale sickly wanton hue of her skin. She had been asleep for a few days, her maid said, but to Míriel it felt like several years. The shock her body had received lessened greatly, but a portion of it remained still. She tried to recall the true moment of her waking, when Vanimë had called out to for help, and it was in that instant that the water beneath her in the silver basin changed. It began to churn suddenly, and a small whirlpool developed. The Silvan shot a furtive glance upwards at Vanië, who merely nodded very solemnly to her, saying, "Look into the Mirror, and your answers will be revealed."

She first saw herself being carried by the King into the healing chambers, where he wept pitifully at her side. She had a distant memory of Thranduil finding her on the forest floor, where she lay violated and bleeding, shamed at what had happened to her, and fearful of what was to come. Míriel assumed she had been unconscious after that, for nothing afterwards did she recall. There was no sound with these images, but the maiden understood that the healers were busy tending to her, and she felt very thankful to them. She saw another bed being prepared, and this time Innas entered, carrying the body of Vanimë. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, but then sank as she noticed the Noldo. Her skin was gray and covered with sweat.

"But I found her at the palace gates, with a gash on her head that bled profusely!" she cried, and again Vanië indicated the basin below her.

A new wave of healers entered the room, and a wooden divider was placed between the two ailing women. On the one side, there was a massive fury to stem the bleeding of the maiden, and on the other a small incision was made on one of Vanimë's shoulder to allow a small trickle of blood to pass whilst the more learned healer stood above the Noldo's head, incanting words and feeding her small spoons of a draught. Innas remained at the end of the divider, looking at both of the women he cared for equally, yet in differing manners. Míriel observed as he took more notice of her than Vanimë, who looked much more detrimental than the maiden herself. She could not understand why there was more attention directed at her than the Noldo.

"Why are they not tending her like they tend me?"

This question she whispered to herself, but she noticed Vanië's smile vanish, and Galadriel shook her head, placing her hand on the dark-haired lady's arm this time.

"They have tended to her," came the quiet response. "But this is not what matters most. You understand now that Vanimë returned to Mirkwood? She came, despite your fears, and as you had wished and hoped. She received your letter on the eve of the first battle in Lórien."

The maiden nodded slowly.

"Very well then, look once more, child of Eryn Galen; this time heed nothing but what is shown to you. Remember, all you see has occurred already while you were resting."

Again, Vanië looked towards Galadriel, but the Lady of the Golden Wood said nothing, only indicating to Míriel to gaze into her Mirror. The Silvan Elf did as she was requested.

This second time, there was sound with the images, so that the maiden was able to understood more comprehensively what she was seeing. There was Vanimë standing before the Mirror as she herself did now, with the same pair of ladies present. So she had also been brought here; had she also cried out in despair and for help? Galadriel held the letter aloft, the one Míriel sent impulsively. She noted the blood indicated, and realized that her former Noldo matronly figure had been injured shortly after reading it. The voices came and went as the images faded in and out. Vanimë's head was now inclined before her, bowed over the edge of the basin, and from her place over the very basin itself Míriel watched the dark outlook of Mirkwood that the Lady had predicted for her Noldo kinswoman if the former Mistress of that land failed in her appointed task. Míriel heard the legend of the Ents as well. Yet what she found more distressing was the realization Vanimë made upon learning that she had been sent to Mirkwood to save its King, and her refusal. Did Vanimë no longer care for Thranduil? What of the innocent defenseless people?

"Did she refuse? Had she given up already?" Míriel pondered.

She met the smiling faces of Vanië and Galadriel, who once more pointed to the Mirror. But it was Galadriel who spoke this time, her words carefully chosen and deliberate, in her slow way.

"Vanimë is Noldo, and the Noldo do not give up so easily, especially the descendants of Fëanor. They try their utmost to succeed, even if it means their death. Nay, as you see before you, she gathered her strength and was aided by others. For a task this daunting, she needed the assistance of others who were of like mind. _Aran _Thranduil is formidable, yet he has his weaknesses just the same as any commoner. You see Innas and his men with Vanimë, giving her support and encouragement. You see her at your side, understanding now that because of her the kingdom is in ruins, and by her with the people's backing, she can undo her misdeeds. She found a mighty token left behind by the Prince, a token that enabled her to woo the people to her side and return them to their King. She has also pledged her life in defense of Eryn Galen, thus voiding her debt with Thranduil. In doing so, she has accepted the price of never returning to Mirkwood."

Míriel felt tears forming in her eyes, watching the last few scenes unfold before her, providing another dimension to the narration of Galadriel. How must have Vanimë felt, knowing that the last true saving grace for Mirkwood lay in her hands? How difficult was it for her to admit she had betrayed an entire kingdom, that she was partly at fault for its turmoil (the maiden refused to believe, as Innas did, that she was to blame for it wholly)? How callous of Thranduil to dismiss Vanimë in such a manner after she had more than redeemed herself! He had accepted her offer of helping to protect his realm without a moment's worth of hesitation. Though he had proclaimed his apology at not being able to reunite with the Noldo, the Silvan maiden felt that those were simply contemptible emotionless words, empty of everything save irrationality.

"_Muinthel nín_ (my sister) Vanimë…" Vanië began, "has ever been misjudged, ever given herself repeatedly for many causes, only to be let down. But I know that she does not regret her actions, most specifically her sacrifice for Thranduil, and your home…"

Míriel shook her head, wiping the tears that ran down her face.

"Why did she sacrifice; was there no other way?" she wept. "Why did _aran_ _nín_ not forgive her?"

Vanië turned her own head away, leaving Galadriel to answer.

"There must always be a sacrifice on some part. It is the way of the world, so that balance and order remain. Vanimë has lived far too long restricting a greater part of herself so that she was never entirely complete. And now she pays the price by facing herself and her own darkness. It began when she admitted to herself that she had wronged Thranduil. The initial unraveling of her soul occurred before she went into the throne room as you saw. I cannot begin to fathom how she felt as she stood in the throne room, proclaiming herself for who she really is, admitting to the chaos she helped create unintentionally. Relief she felt in part, but also uncertainty and fear I am certain. One thing she did not lose in revealing herself is her passion; she firmly believed in the return of the people to their King as his redeeming factor. They must have felt her sincerity; that is the only element that could have driven them to do so. In accepting this she had to depart from him, yet she also had to face herself now. Stripped of everything she had ever hidden behind, there was nothing to conceal her from her own self. There was none to stand by and support her; she had given away all her love, strength, and hope to others. And thus she passed—"

"I found her dead…" Míriel concluded.

Vanië turned back towards the maiden, gray eyes misty.

"She has not gone on to Mandos…yet…Her spirit still struggles…She is bound to Middle-earth like no other. Her task in Mirkwood is not yet complete," she stated. "One matter remains still."

Here, Galadriel rose to her feet, joining her Noldo kinswoman. They both turned to Míriel.

"It is not the wont of the Noldor to request help of those they deem lesser Elves, the _Tawarwaith_ (Silvans). Your simple lives do not suit our sophisticated mannerisms, yet what does this matter when we are faced with either the ending of our world as we know it, or the sunset of all _edhil_ (Elves) in the face of the rising _edain_ (Men)? Yet perhaps it is this very simplicity of your people that will be the saving of your home. Not always is refinement and civilization beneficial when one's spirituality is lost. You asked how you can be of service; are you willing to do so now?"

Galadriel spoke these words directly into Míriel's mind, her azure eyes once more piercing into the maiden. Vanië closed her own eyes as if in a trance, pointing to the basin one final time.

"I have spent the majority of my time in Fangorn Forest. I was one of the first who began waking the trees, teaching them to speak. There is something very ancient and formidable about this old Forest, a lingering element of what was in Valinor in the very beginning. It comforts me. I rarely leave Fangorn; and only once did I venture to Mirkwood, seeking out the lost Entwives."

Míriel saw the memories of the dark-haired Noldo in the basin below her, how she had arrived in Fangorn teaching the trees to speak. It was a daunting task, for after some time she saw the Noldo's face creased with frustration, but in the next image there were trees waking. How many years, centuries even, it took, the maiden did not know. At the last sentence she saw a portion of Ents leaving the Forest, while a number remained behind, leaking silver tears from their eyes.

"The Entwives desired to control things and plant gardens. They taught Men much about the working of the land and farming. While the Entwives' Gardens were lost in the Second Age, and they themselves disappeared, I believe that they are in Eryn Galen; they would have loved to retreat there after their loss, nurse their wounds perhaps. Pride and shame would have prevented them from returning to Fangorn. In eons gone by, Mirkwood was a lovely forest, known then as Eryn Galen. If the Entwives fled here after their Gardens were demolished, I would think they would have spent some time with the Beornings, teaching them how to care for the earth, then as the Shadow increased they retreated here. It is my belief that they inhabit Mirkwood, based on rumors I heard and personal intuition. If you can find them, I will be able to rouse them through you. Their aid will be greatly needed to help stop Dol Guldur. They will not have forgotten so easily the pain they suffered upon losing their Gardens because of Sauron." Vanië ended.

"I have heard of the Entwives and their legend, but how would Fangorn have known about their oath?" Míriel asked. "Would they not be lost any longer?"

"Fangorn knows of the oath when it was first established; there were Ents near the southern region of Dol Guldur, the former site of Oropher's kingdom. When the Darkness came there, the Ents waged a mighty and noble war, but were sorely defeated, cut down and used as firewood by the Enemy's Orcs and other fell creatures. Certain signs lead me to believe that the Entwives came here in hiding; and with the forest so dark and foreboding now they easily could hide themselves. It is simply my belief, but it is worth the time to search. I do not believe they would have lingered too far from the palace; they would not have liked the utter darkness here."

The Noldo ladies turned their eyes again upon the maiden, glances somber.

"You have asked how you can aid your home, and we have provided you with the knowledge to do so. It is up to you now to decide not only the partial fate of Eryn Galen, but also Vanimë's life. We call upon you to answer the plea of Mirkwood." Galadriel said.

The Silvan maiden felt herself being pulled, and as the scenery of Mirkwood returned around her, Vanië's lingering voice filled her mind, "Remember the power of song and your own voice."


	37. The Final Task

NOTES/DISCLAIMERS: Only those elements that are not recognizable belong to me; the rest are Tolkien's. _Council of Elrond_ website referenced.

**The Final Task**

Míriel felt the sharp edge of the mallorn brooch prick the tender skin of her pointer finger. A few small droplets of her red blood formed at the site of penetration, lazily running down her hand and falling at last into the earth, where it seemed it was soaked up greedily. She looked around her, at the spot where Vanimë had lain and bled, but there was no trace of her suffering. Instead there were countless footprints in the soft earth, leading out from the cavern-palace mouth and through the gates beyond. It was eerily silent here, and the lack of sound frightened the maiden. She cherished quietness, but this was unnatural. Even the darkness that loomed beyond the periphery of the gates was not of this earth. This all belonged to the Enemy.

"I must decide upon my next step," she said to herself quietly, rising to her feet. The last words of Vanië rang through her mind, and when she closed her eyes she could see Galadriel's somber face. She had not yet decided upon her course of action; it was too terrifying for her.

"At least let me go and check on Vanimë," she decided at length, moving at a slight run towards the safety of the palace. Something touched her arm lightly, and she gave a scream.

"_Ai_, Maeglin, what are you doing here?" she cried out.

The hawk had been perched in a tree far above, and had witnessed everything that had occurred. He had seen Vanimë as she lay on the forest floor, bleeding to death; had seen his maiden find her and Míriel's eventual vanishing and then her return. He cocked his head at her sideways and bobbed at her in greeting, fluffing his wings in happiness.

"_Ai_,_ mellon __nín_, I am happy as well to see you. So you found Vanimë and delivered the message; I feel responsible now for her current demise. She would not be…"

Emotion overpowered the Silvan Elf, forcing her to stop midsentence. Maeglin clicked at her.

"You are correct. No need to waste anymore tears, or is it? Mirkwood has not had tears enough spilt over the hurts and pains committed here. And now we are at war…will it never end?"

The maiden leaned in and planted a kiss atop the golden-red hawk's head, and he gave her a quiet cry in response. Her spirits revived a sliver, Míriel made her way to the palace healing chambers. She kept her head bowed and her body in the shadows, Maeglin on her left shoulder so that he was hidden from view. At the threshold of the healing ward she paused for a few moments, hesitant if she should enter. Her feathery friend nipped her gently on the neck, so taking a deep breath she opened the door and slipped in quietly.

The healing chamber was a beehive of activity. Assistants hurried to and fro carrying dirty linens and supplies, while others bustled around with containers full of contents reeking of rather vile substances, either bodily or medicinal. Míriel pressed her hands hard up against her nose, not understanding how the people working here could handle the smells. A few, she noticed, had small plugs in their nostrils, and she detected the faint smells of lavender and honeysuckle from a few of the passersby. The healers, distinguished from their assistants by their pale green clothing, had no plugs in their noses to block the smells and they tended to the wounded and dying as if passing through a field of roses. The beds were divided only by sheer curtains that were hastily erected. Passing through the chamber, the maiden saw families in various states: overjoyed at the survival of their beloved, grieving at the loss of a relative, angry at the state of being, or at peace with their current situation—she caught snatches of conversations, "…thank the Valar you are alive...Eru, please spare my husband…why did this happen to me…it is all part of Eru's greater plan for me…" Some families were singing hymns and chanting, eyes and arms held upwards in supplication. It was not only the families and beloved ones that were in these various states of psychological wellness, but also the healers and assistants. A number of the assistants were huddled together in a corner, leaning on one another for support. Even several of the healers stood against the back wall of the chamber, their faces blank and expressionless. Were it not for the steady rise and fall of their chests indicating breathing, Míriel would have thought them dead. As she advanced deeper into this vast room, a sudden grab at her wrist made her jump with fright. Looking down at her hand, she saw blood-stained fingers clutching at her limply.

"I have always desired to kiss your sweet mouth…"

It was a young soldier, one she had seen many times when she sang. He always sat nearest to the front, and his gaze always was on her. His fair face was now a sickly green, and he coughed up something pink and frothy. His breathing sounded wet and labored. Míriel noticed many cruel black arrows embedded deep into his flanks. There was no one around him, no family weeping at his side. He was alone, isolated on all sides but one by curtains. His time on Arda was limited; soon he would be in Mandos' Halls. His condition and the situation scared the maiden; as she tried to pry his fingers off her wrist, he held on tighter, squeezing her until she cried out in pain.

"Kiss me now!" he demanded, voice weak.

"Let me go!" Míriel yelled, wrenching herself free of his grasp at last.

Hurriedly she backed away, not realizing someone was standing there until she bumped into them. This caused the Silvan to scream again.

"What are you doing here?"

It was Isteth, High Healer of Mirkwood. It was she who had followed Míriel out of the palace upon hearing of her awakening, she who had tended to her after Thranduil had found her. There was a scowl on her face as she regarded the maiden before her, who was fighting back heaving.

"I…I came to see Amorith," the maiden whispered.

"Where have you been for these last few hours?"

The maiden was silent.

"This is not time for weeping! War is upon us! Can you not see the injured and dead? As for the Lady Vanimë, she may meet the fate of this poor soul here," the healer indicated the soldier, who now lay motionless in his bed. "I have had many donors for blood, but it appears she requires more than the standard Silvan. Her spirit descends through the lineage of Fëanor; I know not who has equal merit. For now she is surviving, but only Eru knows till when."

Míriel took the healer's hands in hers. "Please, allow me to see her for a few moments."

Isteth regarded the maiden before her closely.

"If you could not bear to see that poor young man, I doubt you will stomach the sight of her."

Maeglin bowed his own head, and Míriel swallowed hard against her fear.

"She is like my _naneth_; I owe her this courtesy at least," she answered. "Have you seen Innas?"

The older woman shook her head, saying, "Some of the afflicted are so very disfigured it is hard to tell who they are, and if no one comes claiming them we cannot distinguish bodies."

Míriel choked, placing her hand over her mouth. Isteth placed her arms on the maiden's shoulders, guiding her to the very back of the chamber. Here, the din and smells of the anterior portion of the room lessened greatly, and a great wooden divider was erected along the length of the wall. The aura here was different; there was a sense of time etching on very slowly, and a steady stream of people was gathered at the entrance of this partition. Assistants were grouped a little ways off with another group, applying heavy wraps on their antecubitals, and some were lying down on cots with their eyes fully closed. They all had one arm fully exposed, and as the question formed on the maiden's mind, it died on her lips as they passed through the divider. In the farthest edge of this sectioned off area was a great bed, and around it was gathered many individuals: healers, assistants, and common people. They were the ones who stood in line at the entrance to the divider, with their arms exposed. Those encircling the bed were seated on stools, as assistants flitted between them, inserting needles into the anterior portion of their arms, directly atop the elbow joint. The needles were connected to hollow tubes, and each tube spilled into a vat full of a shimmering liquid. Afterwards it passed through another tube, which finally became a needle inserted into Vanimë's own antecubital. This was occurring on both sides of the bed very silently. Occasionally the softest scraping of a chair would disturb the peace.

"What is the liquid mixing with the blood?" Míriel asked.

"Athelas, it is a very powerful medicinal plant, given to the Númenorians by the Eldar from Aman. Our stock comes from their descendants, the Dúnedain. We use it for many things; in this instance it purifies the blood of any harmful substance before passing into Vanimë." Isteth said. "We also take a small amount of her blood and mix it with the donors' so no reaction occurs."

"Is it permissible to go to her side?"

The healer nodded.

"Will she hear me?"

"Hearing is the final sense to go; but I do believe she will hear you. At times we get very slight responses from her, usually a small smile or frown."

Yet the maiden remained rooted to her spot, unable to move her feet, unable to look away from the Noldo. Her face was so pale it was nearly translucent. A large wrap was bound on her head. The needles were in both of her antecubitals, transferring into her starved body the blood she so desperately needed. Two assistants, one on either side of her, had just finished repositioning her in bed. Someone was sitting near her, playing a harp very lightly. Prayers were being said. The ambiance was almost one of an imminent sleep rather than the grave situation at hand. It was Isteth who pushed Míriel forward, steering her up to the head of the bed; she began crying.

"Oh Vanimë, what has happened to you? What will happen to us? Why did you have to sacrifice yourself; why accept the price _aran_ Thranduil offered you? You are worth more than to deserve this, this degradation! Look, he does not even come to see you now!" she wept.

Here, Isteth knelt close to the maiden and whispered in her ear, "It is best not to repeat your last sentence. We are keeping her demise a closely guarded secret, for we fear for the safety of the kingdom should _aran _Thranduil learn of her situation. He does not need any diversions now."

Míriel glanced at those offering their blood to the Noldo, and she saw them all garbed in the uniform of the assistants. Even as she gazed upon them now, her own maid, the one assigned to her by Thranduil, stood patiently as a healer removed the needle from her arm and held pressure over the puncture site with a heavy gauze. Vanimë was being cared for with the utmost security.

Someone approached Isteth, and she nodded her head solemnly. Turning to Míriel, she said: "I am needed elsewhere urgently. I shall leave you now to speak with Vanimë in privacy."

The maiden nodded her head, returning her attention back to the Noldo. She began to stroke her brow gently, humming to the older lady a tune she had learnt from her. The maiden allowed her mind to wander as the humming turned into a softly sung ballad of days bygone. She felt herself being lulled into a kind of stupor, and as she sat there her memory of the strange encounter with Vanië and Galadriel came back vividly into her mind, almost as if it was occurring again. Under her hands, Vanimë began to writhe slightly, and her forehead creased. Taken aback in surprise and worry, the maiden attempted to remove her hand from the Noldo's brow, but to no avail. A feeling of heat seared through her, passing from her mind into Vanimë's, and the lady emitted a small cry. No one seemed to notice, and Míriel found she was unable to even speak. Panic spread through her, and just as she was about to shake the Noldo, the moment passed. The lady's face held a look of slight anxiety, but her movements ceased. Coolness flowed into Míriel. She looked at Maeglin, who still was perched on her shoulder, looking quite alert and poised.

"That was very strange my friend, but something tells me not to mention it," she whispered.

The rusty-colored hawk only cocked his head at her in response.

"_Goheno nin_ (trust me)," Míriel said to Vanimë, kissing her dark head.

The maiden rose to her feet, whispering a quick prayer to the Valar for the recovery of the Noldo. Isteth appeared then, with Míriel's maid at her side.

"Something in your countenance tells me there is something you must do. I will not stand in your path, yet I will impose upon you the company of your maid. I shall tell no one that I saw you, and you will tell no one whom you have seen here. Most of the men are fighting, and the women, children, and nobles hide in the palace. Take great care that you are not noticed," the healer said.

Míriel nodded gravely. She hesitated a few moments before embracing Isteth tightly, saying to her, "_Le hannon_ (thank you) for all you have done, and all that you do. It is indeed as you have spoken—there is a task I am charged with, and I gladly accept the company of my maid." Isteth watched the younger women as they left the vicinity, wishing them many blessings.

As Míriel and her maid walked swiftly through the halls, their faces hidden by the hoods of their cloaks, a sudden question dawned on the singer's mind.

"How did you know where to find me, with Isteth?"

"After you awoke in such the state you were in, and I tried my best to dissuade you with the words of Lady Amorith, I was at a loss of what to do. And in that very instance, as if by mere coincidence, Isteth appeared. She said she felt you had awakened, and something was troubling you. I told her all that had come to pass, and she became silent, and asked me to follow her. We went directly to the palace gates; she seemed as if some divine intervention was guiding her."

The maiden was silent as she listened to the tale of her maid. It appeared that indeed some divine intervention was guiding all—could it be the Valar? Did they finally take pity on Mirkwood? Or was it Vanimë's grace, part of her sacrifice, her redemption that she had hoped for? Míriel recalled again the feelings of heat and coolness in the healing chamber—were they also signs? Was she meant to now carry out this last task entrusted to Vanimë? There was no one forcing her; she was simply offered the choice and asked to perform it should she feel willing and able. Yet who was she trying to deceive; she was no Vanimë. She was a simple hapless maiden. How could she even begin to hope to find these fabled lost Entwives and/or Ents when two ladies, more noble and endowed than her, had searched endlessly to no avail? It was quite impossible.

"_Mas anirach baded_ (where do you want to go)?" her maid asked.

"I do not know," Míriel replied.

She was wandering the halls aimlessly, her mind turning over many things, unaware of the direction her feet were taking her. Then the familiar royal section of the palace came into view, and she knew at last where she was going. Signaling her maid to stop, the two Silvan Elves halted briefly at a corner, the singer peeking her head carefully, making sure the hall was clear. Seeing no one, she motioned for her maid to follow, and the two darted into the adjacent room, securely locking the heavy mahogany door behind them. Only then did they remove their hoods.

"Where are we?"

"Lady Amorith's chambers."

The maid looked about her in absolute delight and wonder. Míriel breathed in deeply, closing her eyes as she recalled long gone memories of older times. When she opened her eyes, she found her maid standing at the wardrobe, fingering the gowns within. Possessiveness seized the singer, and she hurried to her side, blocking her further attempts.

"It is impolite to search through another's possessions without prior consent."

The maid sheepishly withdrew her hands, saying, "But I found it open."

"Even though…come, let us look at the books…"

The two young women made their way to the elaborate study area of the Noldo's former private quarters. The bookcases were filled with books of many shapes and thicknesses, and in different languages. Some were in Silvan, others in Sindarin. A portion of them were in Westron, and still more in what appeared to be an ancient form of Elvish. These last books were stacked high up on the case, where the dust was most. For an unknown reason, Míriel found herself gazing at them, her attention drawn there.

"You know what it is you seek?"

Again, the maid poised another question. Míriel was becoming exasperated.

"I do not know…"

She pushed the chair away from the desk, then back against the bookcases. She then stepped up onto it, and even still she could not reach all the way up. Míriel began to jump, trying to knock down any books she came into contact with. At first she had no success, then after a few minutes she managed to knock one of the books down. It was rather heavy, and fell to the floor with a resounding thud. Both Míriel and the maid froze, afraid of being found out. But no one came to the door seeking out the source of the unexpected noise. They sighed in relief.

"Let us see here."

The singer wiped the dust off of the cover, revealing a picture of a forest, not unlike that of Eryn Galen. She opened it to the first few pages, which were nothing more than illustrations. The writing was a higher style of Sindarin than she was used to, but she could make out a few of the sentences. It appeared to be telling the history of all the Silvan Elves, from the moment of their Awakening until their different paths. She skipped through until the end, where the entire section was marked with two pieces of felt. Someone had written a message, which she was able to fully read—_In order to better assimilate oneself, one must understand the people_. This last section she realized spoke of the Nandor, the people of Eryn Galen, her people. Their own unique history was accounted in great detail. She scanned the paragraphs carefully, searching for something that would catch her eye. There was the recounting of Oropher coming and making his arrangement with the _Tawarwaith_. Something called _The Resolution_ was underlined in red ink. Towards the end of this section was a portion devoted to the legends of the people of Mirkwood. It was here that Míriel found her attention roused. She motioned for her maid to listen as she read aloud:

"…_all Tawarwaith (Silvans) hold the spirit world and nature at high authority, but perhaps to the people of Mirkwood their trees are more precious to them than any gems (save for their King Thranduil, please refer to section 100). Many legends and tales these quaint people have, but there is none more potent than the Gwanod uin Yrn (Tale of the Large Trees)…"_

The maid simply shrugged at her.

"But you told me prior to this that your origins are from a small village; surely you would have heard something. The people there must keep these legends alive," the singer said.

Again her maid shrugged her shoulders.

Míriel returned her attention back to the book. Nothing more was mentioned of the _Gwanod_. She scanned the text slowly this time, yet still nothing was revealed. Exasperated, she tossed the book on the desk, and a small parchment slid halfway out from between a few pages. Once more she picked up the book, opening up to the section marked by the parchment. The left page was a finely drawn illustration depicting female-like tree beings, with Elves gathered about them. In the background the maiden detected spherical objects, and something vaguely familiar began to nag at her mind. A much smaller illustration depicted more of these trees in a field with Men this time, engaged in various agriculture activities. A small caption read _Beornings_. Underneath this was a short passage, "_…the Beornings recall tales of old when the Large Trees would walk their lands, tending to their fields and gardens, teaching them the art of caring for the earth and its living inhabitants…now they mourn the loss of their revered mentors…_"

On the opposite page was a more lengthy passage referring to the picture with the Elves in it. There was much detail about the types of trees these beings were alike; the leader was said to be called Fimbrethil and was of the birches. Her beloved was Fangorn, and to this did Míriel harken even more. The exact arrival of these Great Trees was not listed, only that they appeared sometime during the latter ending of the Second Age, or at the beginning of the Third Age. This coincided with the timeline Vanië had given her, and a thrill coursed through the maiden's body. Greedily she skimmed the passage for more information. At the very end she read: "_…overcome with their grief and losses, the Trees took to partaking in the Silvans' merrymaking less and less, instead occupying themselves with mourning. They withdrew to a central location around the palace, being unable to wholly withdraw from contact with the Tawarwaith. It is said that only a __grief as strong and akin to theirs will awaken them, by one who has already woken them before."_

Míriel finished reading. She glanced through the remaining pages but nothing further was mentioned. The only other piece of information she managed to glean spoke of: "_an immensely daunting presence at the periphery of the palace, a place of great and formidable power. Any who venture there do so unconsciously and in times of their greatest need. They find their spirits revived, courage restored, and strength renewed. Over the period of the late Second to early Third Ages this place has become hallowed, and now is a lonely desolate place, but was alive with merriment. Few are those who venture there now, and those who do realize not its power."_

The maiden finally lifted her head from the book, having lost track of time and the fact that her maid stood waiting for her. Only it was not her maid that stood staring back at her from across the desk as she fingered Vanimë's harp. Míriel stared open-mouthed at the figure before her.

"At long last I have found the sleeping place of the Entwives, and I have the means of wakening them again. I can carry out this one final task, but you must be with me. No longer do you have a choice in the matter; you must assist me now to save Mirkwood and Vanimë from their plights."

The words of Galadriel came back to her as she stared at the figure who had spoken to her.

"This final task…" she echoed.


	38. The End of All Things

NOTES/DISCLAIMERS: Only those elements that are not recognizable belong to me; the rest are Tolkien's. _Council of Elrond_ website referenced.

**The End of All Things**

Vanië's clear gray eyes stared back at Míriel in determination. The maiden was astonished; where did her maid go? How did this Noldo appear here? Was she in another dimension?

"I was your maid." Vanië said nonchalantly.

"But how? I do not recall you earlier when she was first assigned to me." Míriel wondered.

Vanië laughed, tossing her head.

"Not at the beginning. I was your maid for only a day. You see, when I said I left Fangorn to find the Entwives, I did not return to that beloved Forest, but rather I stayed in Long Lake. A union has been made by way of _ernil_ (prince) Legolas and Aranel with the Men to help Thranduil when Dol Guldur attacked. Old and long forgotten pacts were renewed. This matter has been kept a secret; only the most select individuals know of it. When I felt the growing tension rising under the surface of my sister, I feared for her safety, as well as for the kingdom's. I left a few days prior to the army's departure from Long Lake with a small escort, and only arrived this early morning."

There was a small pause from the younger Noldo sister, and she turned away from the Silvan.

"My sister and I have not been on cordial relations…I fear I may have come too late. Aranel informed me that the High Healer was trustworthy, and so as soon as I arrived here I went to seek her out. I informed her of my presence in Mirkwood, and what was required of me. At first she was hesitant, but seeing the urgency in my tone, she relented. I learned from her that my sister had convinced the people of Mirkwood to reunite under their King, and that she had revealed herself to all for the steep price of never being able to return and live here as she once did. I knew then that if I did not find Vanimë soon, something dreadful would occur. It was in that instant that I first saw you; you came bursting out of the door in such a fury, and I saw you had pushed your maid aside. Isteth's mind was open to me then, and I was able to discern the sad circumstances that had befallen you of late. Your maid was in shock; taking me to be Vanimë she wept at how she had failed in her task protecting you. I will admit I glimpsed into her mind as well, and was thus able to gather more information. I dismissed your maid after asking her for her cloak, concealing myself as I ran after Isteth while she searched for you. At the edge of the palace courtyard I hid myself in the trees, watching the gathered crowd as they evaluated my sister. I studied you most carefully…you are the only one who can truly help now. I slipped in with the procession carrying Vanimë back into the palace, thinking of my next step."

"It was then that you assumed the role of my maid when I came to see Vanimë! I felt something was not quite right later as I was reading and questioning you. But why _nin_ (me); why am I the one who can help you now?" the maiden asked, quite astonished at this revelation.

Vanië turned back towards her, gray eyes slightly misty.

"You are the only one, save for Thranduil, who was closest to my sister. She had told you many things, taught you much knowledge. I hoped she had come across the Entwives and that you knew where they would be. Vanimë was as fascinated with the Entwives as I was; and at one point she had informed me of a book she read that hinted towards the possibility of the Trees being here. And so I also hoped you would know of their location."

Míriel gripped the book tightly against her chest.

"So the legend is true; they do exist?"

"The Entwives are real enough; whether this legend is true is another matter. But we no longer have the pleasure of time; Sauron has unleashed Dol Guldur. If mere legend and folklore is all there is, then I have no choice but to try to prove their merit correct."

Míriel felt her mind spinning again with all this new information.

"Isteth knows?"

Vanië regarded the Silvan carefully, saying, "She knows only what she needs to know."

The maiden felt a sudden chill rise up her spine.

"How am I to awaken them? I have never seen an Ent, let alone woken one." she said.

Here, the Noldo gazed at her for some time, and there were fresh tears in her eyes. She reached her hand out to the younger Elf, holding both her palms together. In one she placed the harp she had been fingering earlier, and the other she squeezed tightly.

"You are not the one to waken them. The full legend speaks of the Mistress of the woods as being the only one to waken them. And as you yourself have read, a grief as strong as theirs can rouse them, by one whom already has awoken them." Vanië replied.

"It is you; you are the Mistress with the power to revive them!" Míriel declared. "But what of this grief; what misfortune must have befallen one so that it equals the loss of their Gardens?"

"Close your eyes…" Vanië said, her voice breaking with sorrow and pain. "May the Valar forgive me for what I am about to do, if I knew another way I would have gladly done so…"

…

Thranduil sat astride his steed, hidden behind a large boulder. There was nothing but silence all around: the silence of the Darkness, silence of his men, and the silence of his own mind. The first silence, the one belonging to the Darkness, was the most intimidating of all. It left everything to be filled by one's imagination, and imagination was all that remained with the Elven-king. He envisioned endless ways of defeat, cruel torture of his people, and the mutilation of his beloved forest home. Again and again he would think he heard the laughter of Vanimë nearby, and when he turned his head there was only more silence to greet him. The utter lack of sound was quite unnerving and disturbing. He did not need any more coaxing for his imagination to run wild as it had before, leading to the cataclysmic decline of his kingdom. Tonight, he would defeat silence.

"What time is it?" he whispered, aware of that last thought. "In this accursed blackness one cannot tell if the sun has risen or set, or if it has already done so many times over now."

"Noontime of the following day."

Innas slipped quietly beside his King, his reply perceptible only to his liege. Thranduil jumped slightly, having not heard the almost inaudible advancing footfalls of his Captain. The Silvan was without a steed, preferring to move about independently and more freely on his own. His demeanor was as reserved as his King's now, but for different reasons. This was the first time he was alone with Thranduil in awhile, and the animosities of old, as well as the new, rose to the forefront of his mind. He was aware of the Darkness' ability to trump up his fears and anger, and for some time he allowed himself to indulge in these thoughts. How could Innas begin to forgive Thranduil for the wrongs he had committed, both against the kingdom as a whole, and select individuals? His blindness and arrogance led to the ruin of the one whom he loved the most, and the resulting loss of their child. How had Vanimë managed to tolerate this indifference from him for all this time? It had not been even a fortnight and Innas felt the rage and grief inside of him quite difficult to handle. How had his own sire, Aranel, abided patiently at the King's side, his sound council and suggestions being disregarded coldly? Innas was a seasoned Captain, but this type of strife was not known to him. The longer he stayed by Thranduil's side, the more his anger built up. He feared what he might do, so he excused himself. A hand was placed firmly on his shoulder, and the Silvan was forced to look up into the sapphire eyes of his King. There was a slight tinge of fear, quickly replaced by a solid and resolute determination.

"You are all I have left to trust…" he began.

Innas forced sternness about his countenance that masked his fury.

"My liege, my men await my orders. Your people look to their King for command. Do not let the past be judge of this moment; rewrite your destiny in these moments. For these may be the last words we say, the final actions we take." Innas said, bowing low before leaving.

"I will never forgive myself for what I have done to hurt Míriel…"

This sentence was spoken in barely a whisper, but the Silvan heard it nonetheless. He heard the trumpets of the King being blown as a large din rouse from the army of Dol Guldur. Taking his place beside his men, he tried to clear his mind and focus only on the upcoming battle.

"_Mellyn_ (friends), I fight not as your King today, but simply as one who is here to defend his home and beloved ones. Long has the Dark Lord taken our beloved Amon Lanc and defiled it, along with the darkening of the rest of our forest. These trees, that once knew merriment and song and dance, have now become withered and sinister. We have become as dark and shadowy as the current name of our homeland. We have forgotten what it is like to be one with our land, to be connected to the trees. If we could only harken to them, we would hear their weeping, feel their sadness. If not for yourselves, or your family, then for this Forest, this Greenwood the Great that has housed us, allowing the Silvans to remain untainted by the outside." Thranduil said.

Through a small break in the trees, Innas was able to observe the King from where he stood. The Sinda dismounted from his horse, giving it a small slap on its rump. The horse obligingly turned and started back towards the palace. Thranduil reached a hand inside his tunic, and then pulled out something. Holding it aloft, the faintest bit of crimson and green could be detected in the blackness of the noontime day. Yet it seemed in that moment that the shadows paled a little, and the smallest ray of sun beamed down through the darkness, illuminating the Elven-king and his autumn berry crown. All around him Innas could see soldiers and volunteered people reaching for their own crown replicas, holding them aloft as well. No one had dismissed them from their personage since the fateful dawn, and with a thudding of his heart Innas realized that neither had he. His men, ever loyal and faithful to him, looked to their Captain. They all shared his views and opinions regarding the King; therefore they would not hold their crowns aloft unless he did. There was a lull as all eyes turned on him, not just his men's. What would he decide? It was not something he could so lightly abandon. Most everyone knew of his beliefs and what had befallen to Míriel. As the seconds ticked on, Innas saw all the negativity he had endured on the part of the King starting with the out casting of Vanimë, his own exile, and finally the plight of his beloved. He felt the entire world was awaiting his decision. Again, the animosity and anger returned, and as he was about to embrace it, a new thought entered his mind.

"_What would Vanimë do?"_

He had not thought about her for some time since leaving the palace. The last he had seen of her was in the glade, as Thranduil embraced her tightly, dismissing her again for the second time. Where was she? Why was she not present? Her presence would be a welcomed morale booster to the men, and the King. Innas called to her with his mind, but no reply. He tried again, with no result either. Undoubtedly she was occupied with some matter or other; perhaps she was among the men here. He was aware of the excessive amount of time he was taking, yet he refused to rush himself. He allowed his mind to ponder what Vanimë would do in his position. No matter his pain and anger, the Noldo's suffering was infinitely more than his. He could not let his own grief cloud his vision, let his emotions rule. He saw what that did with Thranduil—it only wrought havoc and devastation upon everyone. And as for Vanimë, her love won out in the very end. She did not let her grief and the idea of revenge (which flitted through his thoughts now) be the ultimate outcome—she swallowed her pride and pain and sacrificed herself for the greater good, for the protection and wellbeing of all Mirkwood and its inhabitants. Innas would be dishonoring her by seeking the path of revenge. He was not better than her. Slowly, he raised his own crown aloft, and a great cheer rose among the fighters. Thranduil inclined his head at him. Together as one body, the men placed their crowns atop their heads, and a sense of power seemed to rush through them. Mirkwood, at long last, was unified in the face of the Enemy.

"Steel your hearts, steady your hands! Show no fear or mercy towards these fell creatures, for they know no such feeling towards you! They know only hate and darkness, and deal with them as such! Show them the wrath of the _Tawarwaith_ (Silvans)! To war!" Innas shouted, placing his own replica crown atop his head. As he did, he felt a serenity and calmness fill him.

It seemed this one act ushered the beginning of the battle. The sky darkened with flashes of lightning and wind. The silence was replaced with the screaming of the Black Army, and the calm singing of the Elves. It was an old tradition of theirs, to sing while in battle, something they had not done in awhile. Innas initiated it, with his men, as was their custom. It quickly was taken up throughout the rest of the soldiers until even Thranduil's strong voice was heard. The two opposing factions met at the center of a clearing, and the differences could not have been more vivid. Sauron's army was enshrouded with blackness, while the Elves emanated light, from the style of their dress to the very method of their singing. The latter were clad in light armor, strong enough to protect the wearers, while the former was engrossed in black from ugly heads to dirty toes. The Black Army merely reeked of death and vileness. Thranduil stepped into the emptiness separating the two armies. If he felt frightened or anxious, not a single emotion of weakness betrayed him. His face was stern, his countenance and demeanor proud and steadfast. He looked towards the center of the opposition, allowing his hate a legitimate avenue of exposure at last.

"We will show you no mercy. You will all die. If you fear for your lives, leave now."

There was raucous laughter.

"We do not fear you! You hide in your cave all day! Where is the fame of the Elves, you who hide underground like the Dwarves! Perhaps you have not heard of the fate of Moria? Have you forgotten already the fate of your Queen! You cannot even guard your wife!"

Innas tensed at this, but Thranduil quickly responded.

"If that was your attempt to weaken us, you have failed. For that was not the Queen! There has been no Queen of _Eryn Galen_ in centuries! You have asked to see the fame of the Elves; we shall give it to you. By Elbereth we shall! _Lacho calad! Drego morn_ (Flame light! Flee night)!"

The laughter subsided slightly as Thranduil pulled out his sword. It flashed menacingly as he raised it, and the King added, "I have not forgotten that it was by Morgoth that all this strife originates. Had he not stolen, my beloved Doriath might still be here, my _adar_ would be by my side instead of with Mandos. I would not have isolated myself from all who I have loved. Let this day be my time of atonement; if I am not pure enough I wish to join my father in Mandos! For I have wearied of the Darkness and its loathsome debris. So I say to you now, fight _Tawarwaith_!"

And with that, Thranduil ran headlong into the Dol Guldur army. He gave a cry, and his army followed suit, issuing their own battle cries. Innas and his company tried to gain on the King, but he was fast. They watched in fascination as a light appeared to issue from him, blinding the accursed army ahead of him. At first the Orcs watched in disbelief, laughing harshly again. Yet as Thranduil kept on advancing, with the light issuing from him, they became frightened. They gave short cries as they saw the oncoming Silvans in pursuit of their King, equally fell. The orderly troops became disorganized and scattered as they tried to flee from the Elves' path. In the ensuing chaos, many Orcs and Goblins were trampled upon by their fellows before Thranduil reached them. They screamed in terror, their cries of panic mingling with the Elves' cries.

Innas watched as Thranduil reached the outermost group of Orcs, swinging his sword expertly at them, chopping off limbs and heads as he went. There was little resistance at first, as the Orcs were still in shock and attempting to flee and regroup. The Elven-king, who had not fought in some time, felt the allure of the fight rush into him, powering him even more. He dodged a spear aimed at his head, ducking under the arms of an attacking goblin, managing to splice through its back. He felt the crunch of bone against his blade, and hewed off the body, placing a booted foot on its back to free his sword. Blood sprayed everywhere from numerous wounds of his enemies, some he had caused, and others caused by his soldiers, who had caught up to him finally. The King watched Innas as he worked his way through the now re-grouped army, hacking and swinging two blades at once. A sudden reminder of Legolas shot through him; both of them had trained together. An abrupt shrill whistle sounded, announcing the first volley of elven arrows. The archers were hidden well in the trees above, their aim expertly hitting their assigned targets. Thranduil watched one such arrow land squarely in the eye of a neighboring Orc, spraying all over him. His stomach convulsed slightly, but he had no time for queasiness. The beast howled in pain, forgetting Thranduil, trying to remove the arrow. The King swung his blade round his head before aiming at its neck, cleanly severing its head. The body fell limply to the ground, the hand still clutched tightly onto the shaft of the arrow, which remained embedded in the eye.

Innas heeded little attention to anything save his own fighting. His mind wandered as he fought. The unification of the King with his people had been forged here on the battlefield; yet Vanimë had done the hardest legwork of preparing for this moment. She had known that no matter how much she pleaded with them, it was the people's choice ultimately. They needed a token, an icon, something to truly re-bond with their King, and he had provided the perfect solution. His crown was a dichotomy though; it was at first traditionally associated with the _Lasbelin Mereth _(Autumn Feast), a most happy occasion of merriment and food, but now this very token was a substantial source of pain after the doomed feast a few days ago. Yet this pain was borne by all, if not the heaviest by their King. Innas prayed that this pain would be pacified with the spilling of their enemy's blood. Would that _ernil_ (prince) Legolas were present now, what would he say? Would not he be satisfied that his father's debt to the people was being paid now, that he had reaped all that he had sown? Would all be forgiven between father and son at last?

"_How many Orcs would it take to equal the suffering of Míriel?"_ he thought to himself.

A hard shove woke him soundly from his reverie, and as he wondered what had occurred, he saw one of his men aside him, fighting off a monstrous troll. Only it was not one of his men, but the King himself. Buried in his thoughts, the Captain had not noticed that his company had inched their way alongside their liege, and that it was he who now was warding death away from Innas. Quickly he leapt to his feet, swinging both blades as he did so. Thranduil was blocking blows from the troll and trying to jab it when he got a chance. The troll, like Innas, was wielding two clubs, both very large and heavy. He was gaining ground on Thranduil, yet had not noticed Innas. The Captain leapt again, this time much higher, somersaulting and landing on the beast's thick neck. Thranduil, understanding what was happening, kept the troll's attention focused solely on him, darting to an open area. Signaling to the Silvan atop the troll, Innas jumped into the air again, giving a shout, sinking both his blades deep into the brute's neck. The troll began to weave from the heavy blood loss, desperately attempting to remove Innas. But the Captain kept his balance, managing to lift his blades slightly, and then moved them in circular motions. As Thranduil moved backwards against a tree, both the troll's head and Innas landed directly in front of him, the latter's emerald eyes shining darkly. It seemed for a moment that the Silvan would say something, but he turned away as his men approached, asking after the King's safety. They had seen the troll attacking Thranduil only after Innas had decapitated it. After securing the King's wellbeing, they assured themselves of their Captain's safety.

"Shall we?" Innas asked Thranduil, indicating the on-going fray with a jerk of his dark head. The King was quiet, noticing the battle. A fair amount of his people was either dead or dying, and a portion wounded. The healers and assistants were hurrying about, trying to pull the wounded away to treat their wounds. The stench of death and the wounded mingled with the battle cries of both armies, as well as the moans of all those injured. Even as he looked on, Thranduil saw one such of his people. It was a younger man, his eyes having been stabbed through. His twin brother wept furiously at his side before pulling a dagger from his boot, leaned down, and ended his brother's misery before finishing off his own life. The queasiness from before returned anew to the King; as he choked and covered his mouth, Innas clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"No one will say a word should you choose to return to the palace. It has been some time now that you have not experienced these gruesome scenes." he whispered.

Thranduil shook his head, replying, "Nay, repentance of my sins should not be so easy. I have led my people to slaughter before; I will lead them to victory now, or our death. But at least it will be a glorious death, not one of shame; or so I fervently pray and hope."

"As you wish my liege…"

Countless hours passed. The strong singing of the Elves had diminished now. The toll of all the fighting, and enduring everything around them was starting to wear them, yet they persisted on patiently and valiantly. Weaponry, armor, and supplies were being restocked, positions changed, and the wounded and dead were being carried off. The Black Army of Dol Guldur appeared to have dwindled down to a third of its original size. The elven archers still showered the battlefield below with their precise shots from high in the treetops, and under the arch of another rather heavy volley Thranduil's army retreated to regroup under the eaves of a cluster of tall trees. The green leaves were a welcome sight to the Elves, and they breathed in their scent all the more deeply. Thranduil looked over the faces of his gathered soldiers. They were grim and stained with the blood of their enemy as well as their own. Some nursed minor wounds while others had a glazed look in their eyes. The _Tawarwaith_ were not renowned for fighting. They would defend their lands, yes, but this was not their strength. Their peace lay in the serenity and bounty of their forest home. It agonized them to see their lands desecrated so by the filth of Sauron. The Elven-king walked among his men, solidifying distressed spirits, raising morale, encouraging the faint-hearted. Every tear shed and unshed broke his heart, every wound burned his soul. He wondered briefly if there was a way he could have prevented this battle but realized there was not. As he approached Innas, the Captain's dark head whipped around suddenly, a strange look in his eyes.

"What was that?" he asked.

Screams and cries could be heard from beyond, and as the gathered Elves watched, they saw the treetops alight with fire. The Dol Guldur army had tired of being assailed by endless volley after volley of arrows. Unable to detect the cleverly concealed elven archers, they decided to launch their own weaponry into the trees, as well as into the bushes and brush below. Horrified, Thranduil watched as his people tried to escape the flaming trees, some of which were being doused with oil before being set alight. The flames were spreading greedily from one branch to another, and onto the ground below. Some of the archers could be seen falling to their deaths below in an orange descent. A portion that had seen what was about to happen managed to escape, and they came shakily towards their King. The battle was now in the favor of the Black Army.

"Where will you run to now?" came the leering voices, laughing harshly. "We will raze both forests to the ground; Mirkwood and the Golden Wood will be eradicated! The time of Elves and Men has passed; the time of the Orcs is here! Who will save you now?"

At the mention of the Golden Wood, Thranduil paled. Once more he had failed himself with his arrogance, for the Lady Galadriel's realm was under attack. Had he been more cordial, there might have been a joint unified effort; Dol Guldur might have been attacked first instead of dealing the first, and, what probably looked like, the final blow. All the life seemed to seep out of the King, and he fell back limply against the tree trunk. All around him he heard the cries of his dying people, the burning of his forest home, and the Darkness of the Enemy. Hope faded, yet for his people he steadied himself. Beside him, Innas gripped his forearm tightly, whispering:

"Elbereth…"


	39. Sunsets of the World

NOTES/DISCLAIMERS: Only those elements that are not recognizable belong to me; the rest are Tolkien's. _Council of Elrond_ website referenced. The first song used is called _The Voice_ by Celtic Woman. The last song was inspired by _Nagini_, changed from its original content. To better understand the dance, please refer to youtube clips of this 1986 Bollywood song. This first part of the series is now complete, but may be revised. The second installation will be posted soon.

**Sunsets of the World**

Thranduil looked to where Innas pointed. In the gloom he could vaguely discern large shapes advancing slowly towards them, from behind the Black Army. There was the distant sound of hollow drums, and the earth quaked beneath their feet. Something bright glinted from afar, appearing to be suspended in the air. The King hoped it was a ray of sunshine; he longed desperately to see the sun's smiling face. Innas remained immobile, his eyes only staring ahead. Calmness spread through him, and a smile replaced the harshness on his fair face. Curiosity filled Thranduil, and he watched as the Captain turned to his men. The Silvan appeared to be searching for something in the trees; he gave a short cry, and a fluttering of wings brought a handsome red-brown hawk alighting on his forearm. Thranduil gave a start.

"That was the hawk present when—"

His sentence was cut off as a few of Innas' men nodded solemnly to their Captain. They slipped hoods over their faces then disappeared into the trees, vanishing completely. Innas was busy whispering something to the hawk, which ruffled himself before bobbing his head and taking flight. Thranduil stood impatiently, unable to comprehend a single action.

"Innas, I demand an explanation." Thranduil growled. "I am King; nothing should be hidden."

"My lord, it is best we return to fighting. We cannot reprieve any longer."

It was the Captain of the archers. His clothes were badly burnt, hair full of ash and dried blood. He had narrowly escaped being burnt alive, and his blood boiled to avenge the deaths of his men. Behind him stood the remaining archers who had managed to escape; others were joining them.

"Indeed. I shall remain here with Innas only a few moments to revise our strategy."

The soldiers bowed, returning to the battle. The archers climbed into the surrounding trees, using their longbows now to account for the distance. Innas led the King away as their first volley was fired. Smoke was billowing thick and black, and the fires raged on. A wind blew down from the north, directly towards the Black Army, favoring the new advance of the _Tawarwaith_. They crept under the smoke, thankful for its unintentional protection, surprising the Orcs and other foul dark creatures. What little peace was now replaced by the returning war din. The mysterious figures continued to advance slowly, yet the Orcs did not heed them, their attention on the Elves only.

"Forgive us for not seeing your Kingship when we needed your guidance. Forgive us for not respecting your Kingship when we were thrown out. Forgive us as we have forgiven you."

The voice that spoke was not Innas', yet it might have been for all the similarities. The same emerald eyes looked somberly at the King, the same dark head inclined respectfully. Yet the power and authority emanating was not of the Captain, but of Aranel. Silvan father and son gripped each other's forearms tightly before Aranel continued, removing the hood from his face.

"How many?" Innas asked hurriedly.

"Only one thousand…not just Long-Lake but from other surrounding areas, and even from remote villages. We have truly been blessed. This pact was a very wise choice of his."

"And the trees?"

"They have been found…but I warn you, there is something that may shock you…"

"Nothing may ever shock me anymore, _adar_."

Aranel only smiled.

"Go _ion nín_ (my son), the General waits to speak with you. I must explain everything to _aran_."

Thranduil was beyond irate. Events had been planned without his knowing; what audacity was this? Knowing that Aranel was behind the planning only made everything connected. The former council member was very calm as he withdrew a sealed envelope from within his robes, bowing deeply before handing the letter to his King, saying, "This will explain everything, my liege."

Wordlessly, Thranduil took the envelope from Aranel, turning it over to break the seal. The official emblem of his House blazed starkly in deep brown, the personal symbol of the writer a vibrant green beech leaf, and Thranduil glanced quickly at his Silvan councilor. The back of his maroon cloak greeted the King, and so Thranduil returned his attention anew to the envelope, hands shaking as he broke the seal gently, recognizing it as belonging to his son. Inside was a folded piece of parchment, filled with the concise handwriting of Legolas. The father smiled to himself, fondly remembering the patience it took Vanimë to quell the youngster's restlessness and help him master the written word. Later, he had taken an interest in writing and often went to seek her knowledge as he tested different styles. Long hours they both spent in the library, often times with Dínenven assisting—Legolas could not have chosen better mentors. For who would know more than a Noldo, born in the Blessed Realm, experienced in both worlds, and an ancient scribe of Silvan descent, one who had witnessed many events himself? The Elven-king took a deep breath before unfolding the parchment and reading silently to himself in Sindarin.

"_Adar mell nín (my dear father);_

_Doubtless you are furious at both Aranel and Innas. I beg you to pardon them, as it is not their __faults. They were bidden to complete and utter secrecy by my official order and word. Only under the most severe and direst of circumstances were they instructed to divulge any single piece of information to you, and as you are reading this letter now, I can only conclude that the above two conditions have been met, quite unfortunately. It is no great surprise to me, however, as I have been expecting this fate to have fallen upon us much sooner…"_

Thranduil again glanced up at Aranel, and met his emerald eyes observing him closely.

"_I learned of Dol Guldur's attack upon us before leaving for Lord Elrond's Council. A portion of our people had fled to the Golden Wood, as the conditions of our kingdom were decaying, and so I sent a message to the Lord and Lady of that land warning them of an attack upon them as well. This was hidden from you by my order, in the best interests of our home and subjects. Fearing for the safety of our people in my absence, I arranged with Aranel to seek assistance with the Men of Long-Lake. Lengthy has been our relationship with them in terms of trade, and so we hoped they would see the wisdom of aiding us when we were attacked; for if we fall, then their doom will be so much more swiftly and succinct. Aranel of course succeeded in this great endeavor, securing a most faithful ally. Lord Elrond has also been most gracious, promising to send a legion of his most esteemed warriors, notably the Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin. You know very well the valor of the Noldor, especially when their wrath is kindled in war; his help is very much appreciated. The Noldor do not rest so long as Morgoth's successor still exists, for they have suffered much at their hands. This is a token of goodwill, to ease the strife between the Noldor and Sindar, who now rule over the Silvans. Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn are aware of everything, yet for known reasons, will not be intervening. Their own borders are troubled by Dol Guldur; however, their sound judgment, most especially the Lady's, is readily harkened to by Lord Elrond. The Lady of the Woods, a mythical figure not to be mistaken as Galadriel, is being sought after. She is an Eldar of extraordinary power; it was she who helped to awaken the Ents. There is legend that speaks of great trees in Mirkwood; we hope to have them allied with us, for no greater power in this Middle-earth exists than the ancients—the Ents of the Forest."_

"_Tomorrow I leave this blessed land of the mellyrn (mallorn trees) with the Company. We have lost Mithrandir, and while our hearts are heavy, Elessar steadies our faith in our mission. It pains me greatly to be so close to my home in months, yet so far. Would that the distance between you and I were not as great…yet I have found comfort here in more ways than one…"_

At the very bottom was pressed a jasmine flower, a favorite of Amorith, and the King understood what comfort his son indicated. Just beneath that was signed, _Ion sador lín _(your faithful son).

"Allies?" whispered Thranduil, folding the parchment and tucking it over his breast.

Aranel nodded, eyes still somber. His hands were folded together in semblance of patience.

"Not all was lost, even though it may have felt as such for you. The Darkness is heavy, but the Light stronger still. Lake-town stands besides as, as does Imladris, in honor of _ernil_ (prince)Legolas as a Companion. The Ents have been awoken. You are not alone," replied the Silvan, replacing the hood over his face, and bowing again. "You never have been alone, though you hide behind fallible walls self-made. It gladdens me that Eryn Galen has unified at long last. It is as if the spirit of your great sire, _aran_ Oropher, is here amongst us all, guiding you lovingly."

"You may forget my ignorant words when I dismissed you from my council…" Thranduil said.

Aranel smiled in return, saying, "They already were; I had my orders from _ernil nín_ (my prince) and The Resolution above all else: '_Furthermore, should the King forget or neglect his duty to us, then we the people must honor this vow by reminding him of his duty to us_…' I permitted Dínenven to retrieve it, under command of Legolas. On the eve of my departure, I placed it, along with a note from _ernil_, in Vanimë's quarters. Her arrival was known to me, as it was to Legolas and my own son. She had the hardest task of all. This has been my guiding light in the times that I kept council with you, solidified my stance in the face of your unwillingness to heed my words, and the pride with which you deflected your hurts. I have always been on your side."

Aranel walked off slowly into the trees, leaving Thranduil alone with a few of Innas' men. They were as silent in their ways as their Captain, keeping a careful watch on their liege. He smiled at them suddenly, chucking quietly to himself, asking them and already knowing the answer to his question, "You knew all along? You were all bound to this one secrecy?"

Slight nodding of their heads indicated what he had already known. Thranduil closed his eyes tightly against the tears that overwhelmed his senses, ready to spill. He was enraged at first to learn that the security of his people and kingdom had hung on the silence and great dedication of these most noble men. They had planned an entire war without him, in his name. How many hours had they spent developing their plans, praying for success, hoping that no one betrayed a single iota? How much self-restraint and willpower had been exerted to not simply tell him? How had they endured everything he had ever said and done? It is said that kingdoms are made from their Kings, but his people had proven that it is the inhabitants of that kingdom that make it. Had his sire had foresight regarding this; had he known the weaknesses of his son? Or had he simply learned from the mistakes of prior Sindarin kingdoms? Whatever the reasons and causes, Thranduil thanked his sire now for what he had done. He felt an extraordinary debt to these fine warriors. Legolas had chosen well; Aranel, Innas, and his company were the only ones who could be trusted to carry out an undertaking as refined and grand as this.

There was a crunch of leaves, and from the trees behind him, Thranduil saw a group of men approaching. Some were Men, others Elves. The King recognized his two Silvan saviors among them and felt his heart surge anew. They were silent now, Aranel indicating his King to the Men.

"I present to you King Thranduil. He has been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

The Men bowed, saying, "We have been joined by a delegation from the Beornings. How shall we proceed and integrate ourselves amongst your warriors?"

"Allow me to confer with my Captain and Councilor, Innas and Aranel…" the King replied.

...

She had run as soon as Vanië finished giving her the details of her treatment in the healing chambers. The Noldo's heart broke again, yet her agony was not in comparison to the maiden's anguish. Míriel felt a wave of nausea overwhelm her, and she darted into the pristine bathing room of Vanimë, heaving the contents of her stomach onto the floor. Her breathing was so fast, her diaphragm became constricted until it felt hard and solid, and she found herself unable to draw breath. Vanië darted in after her, pushing a towel gently over her face, soothing her down enough so that the maiden was able to regain her normal respiratory rate. Her tears streamed down her warmly reddened face, her nose running. She wailed loudly.

"My unborn child lost?" she whispered.

Míriel took flight again, darting out of the bathing room, leaving Vanimë's quarters entirely. The Noldo followed the sound of her despair out of the palace and into the courtyard, where the maiden led her through the gates, over the bridge, and onto a path of green grass. It was bordered on either side by flowers, and beyond that skirted a line of willow trees. The atmosphere was one of immense sadness, and the Lady of Fangorn Forest felt as if a whisper danced about the trees. Ahead of her Míriel still wailed, stumbling unevenly. A small stream gurgled out of sight as it ran over its pebbly bed, on its way to join the river flowing under the stone bridge they had both crossed. Vanië closed her eyes, feeling the trees calling to her, calling to Míriel. On and on the path wound amongst the willows, until at last there was a small break in the Shadow, and a few rays of sunshine could be seen. Into the glade the Silvan maiden ventured, and Vanië followed.

"Where are we?" the Noldo asked, gazing at the large trees here, their boughs entangled high above them in roofed arches. A small waterfall cascaded its silvery liquid.

"I felt myself pulled here," the maiden responded.

As Vanië turned in slow gentle circles, admiring the scene around her, her gray eyes fell upon a most intricate structure. It was circular, made of mithril, divided into smaller spheres, through which the few lingering rays of sunlight filtered. It seemed oddly familiar, and as the Noldo advanced towards it, Míriel gave another resounding sob.

"My unborn child was stolen from my womb, because I was violated! Who would understand my pain at such a loss? Who amongst the Eldar would know?" she screamed.

Vanië stared at the mithril structure before her. It seemed somehow familiar, though she had never been here before, even on her prior visit.

"Míriel, have you seen this before?" she asked.

"I have come here before, whenever Vanimë felt she was at a loss. Her last night in Mirkwood, before she confessed to Thranduil, she came here. She said it gave her hope and strength."

Vanië grazed her fingertips lightly over the structure.

"I have seen this before."

Míriel lifted her head, wiping her face.

"It was in the book I read; it was in that illustration."

The two women froze.

"Then these trees…" the maiden trailed off.

Vanië nodded her dark head slowly, "Yes, it is exactly as you think."

She lifted her eyes up to the canopied roof, understanding now what she was seeing. The harp which she had strapped across her back she untied, her fingers lightly plucking at the strings. The maiden watched, entranced, as Vanië seemed to change before her, emanating a light that partly blinded Míriel's vision. The Noldo's sea-gray eyes glowed suddenly, and her voice, much softer and higher-pitched than her older sister's, rose in an ancient song:

_I __hear your voice on the wind__  
__And I hear you call out my name_

_"Listen, my child," you say to me__  
__"I am the voice of your history__  
__Be not afraid, come follow me__  
__Answer my call, and I'll set you free"_

_I am the voice in the wind__  
__and the pouring rain__  
__I am the voice of your hunger and pain__  
__I am the voice that always is calling you__  
__I am the voice, I will remain_

_I am the voice in the fields__  
__when the summer's gone__  
__The dance of the leaves__  
__when the autumn winds blow__  
__Ne'er do I sleep throughout__  
__all the cold winter long__  
__I am the force__  
__that in springtime will grow_

_I am the voice of the past__  
__that will always be__  
__Filled with my sorrow and blood__  
__in my fields__  
__I am the voice of the future,__  
__bring me your peace__  
__Bring me your peace,__  
__and my wounds, they will heal..._

_I am the voice in the wind__  
__and the pouring rain__  
__I am the voice of your hunger and pain__  
__I am the voice that always is calling you__  
__I am the voice_

_I am the voice of the past__  
__that will always be__  
__I am the voice of your hunger and pain__  
__I am the voice of the future__  
__I am the voice, I am the voice__  
__I am the voice, I am the voice_

The leaves ruffled around them, and Míriel gave a small cry of fright. She clung to Vanië, who was smiling broadly now. She plucked at the strings again, saying, "Arise my friends of old. Your time now has come. Arise now, for your pain has been felt anew."

The maiden shivered as the trees trembled, shaking the ground beneath her feet.

"Míriel, you must sing the _Waking Song of the Trees_, as I have called it. They have heard my hurts, but you must rouse them now. Open your mind to them, and they will understand. Do not let yourself see them; sing with open eyes staring into your anguish. Sing now, Míriel!"

...

It was the sound of hollow drums and strange flutes that roused the attention of the Orcs and the army of Elves and Men. Both factions ceased their fighting, staring ahead of them from where the music issued. Aranel observed his son carefully, whose emerald eyes were fixed directly upon the first and tallest Ent that he spotted, the apparent leader. It had the impression of being female, a slender beech-like tree. But that was not what had drawn his attention. On the topmost bough stood a golden-haired female, her face defiant in the face of the armies. Beside her stood a dark-haired lady, her gray eyes piercing and focused solely on the Black Army of Dol Guldur below. While the younger fairer-haired maiden had a look of slight worry, only anger and hatred filled the face of Vanië. In her arms she plucked at a harp, and with a pang Thranduil realized that it was Vanimë's. Only he did not know it was not her who plucked it now. Briefly, Vanië let her eyes wander to Aranel and Innas, and into their minds she spoke of Vanimë's fate. Both men betrayed not one word, only their faces paled slightly in response.

The music, save for the harp played by Vanië, was coming from the Trees. They were beating on their trunks, which accounted for the hollow drums. The flutes, made from old branches, were round as gourds before thinning out into traditional flute shape. As the Trees stopped moving, their music continued. It was hollow and eerie, accompanied by the singing of Vanië in another language, while Míriel played the harp now. The Noldo was dancing, her arms arched high above her head like a tree canopy, waist cinching side to side in imitation of the Entwives' movements, jerking this way and that at the stroke of each deep drumbeat. She was entranced by the Trees, her singing and dance providing translation for the unknown words. Yet the Elves and Men perceived the meaning of the words they heard but did not understand. Only Glorfindel understood this archaic language, heart rejoicing at the hearing of his beloved Noldorin again:

_I am your enemy, and you are my enemy  
[because] I am good and you are evil  
Our enmity is ages long _

_Valar are witnesses  
I am your enemy, and you are my enemy  
[because] I am good and you are evil_

_We will take revenge for today_

_Do not provoke me I will destroy you  
All your deeds are my reasons  
Your might will not work on me today  
I am your enemy, and you are my enemy  
[because] I am good and you are evil  
_

_Music of our Lady  
Has awoken us  
Our time has come for revenge  
To avenge the loss of the innocent  
I am your enemy, and you are my enemy  
[because] I am good and you are evil_

_On her lips is our story of loss and suffering_  
_Everyone will see your defeat_  
_You will not see tomorrow's dawn_  
_I am your enemy, and you are my enemy_  
_[because] I am good and you are evil_

The music stopped suddenly, and its cessation struck fear into the Black Army. Míriel and Vanië were lowered onto the forest floor, and they bowed respectfully to the King. Innas could not take his gaze away from his beloved. She was changed, more mature, as if she had aged in the few days that had passed. There was a harshness about her that was foreign. The Noldo gave a warning look to the Silvan Captain before turning her attention to the King.

"I am the Lady of the Woods, sister of Vanimë. The lost Entwives have been found, and they wish to fulfill their oath to you, as well as avenge their losses." she said.

The King nodded, watching as the Noldo turned to inform the Entwives. The Orcs gave a cry, fearing the turn of the battle now in the favor of their enemies. They began to retreat, fighting wildly to escape the Trees that advanced towards them. The Black Army made it halfway across the clearing before stopping suddenly in its tracks. From amongst the burning trees advanced the Men of Long-Lake, their tall spears glinting in the firelight. The fell creatures turned tail and fled eastward, only to be confronted again, this time by the warriors of Imladris, Glorfindel leading. Upon turning westward, the small band of Beornings blocked their path. On all sides the Orcs and other vile creatures of the Dark were surrounded and they howled in misery. From the north marched the Trees, their elven counterparts abreast. This was the tactic Thranduil had devised with Aranel and Innas. The singular units had moved into place, using the cover of the smoke to conceal their activities. The Black Army was defeated at long last, the Shadow lifted forever.

Several hours later, Thranduil knelt alone in the glade that Vanimë had chosen to give her last speech. His face was warmed by the day's dying sunlight beaming down through the mithril structure, his sapphire eyes flooded with tears. Many lives had been lost, many more on their way, to protect his realm. He had witnessed the valor of the Men in battle. This land was no longer the sunrise of the Elves. Their time had ended; three Ages of the World had witnessed the greatest and worst deeds of the Firstborn. Now it was time for a new era, one of Men, amidst the sunset of the Elves. Where would his people's place fall in this order? What would he do now?

A sudden flap of wings roused his attention as a white dove alighted on his shoulder, beady eyes gazing steadily at him. He had almost forgotten the true source of his victory, Vanimë. Hurriedly he rose from his place, heading back towards the palace. Time seemed to stop, and the distance to the gates felt endless. He still could smell the burning of the forest, and a fouler stench—the burning of the Black Army. From a distance he could hear harsh cries; the Entwives were still occupied. Something warm seeped onto his shoulder, and glancing sideways, he noticed the dove shedding red-tinged tears. Fear gripped his heart though he did not know why. Just ahead he saw the silhouette of the gates, and his pulse quickened; he was almost inside. A small cooling wind announced the departure of the dove, which he knew would be final this time. The red-brown hawk of before was perched just inside the courtyard, and as he passed beneath it, he received a most severe glance. There were many warriors gathered here, both of Imladris and his own men. They all were silent with grief, and panic filled the King now. Innas had taken injury in the final fighting, but it had not been detrimental. What of Aranel? Was he wounded terribly? Thranduil pushed his way crudely through the crowds until he felt his feet scraping the stone floor of his cavern-palace. Clumsily he stumbled towards the healing chambers, unable to bear the wait any longer. The door, as he expected, was open. Isteth stood waiting for him patiently.

"Where is she?" he heard himself stutter.

She led him to the back of the chamber, where the divider was now removed. Vanië knelt by her sister's side, with Míriel opposite; both wept silently. The bedridden Noldo was pale-gray; her life force was quite weak. The women excused themselves at his arrival. There was no one in the chamber except for Isteth and her King. The Sinda moved to his beloved's side, taking her limp hands in his, burying his face in her palms. The armies' victory was nonexistent now. There was no life for him without her; he could not live if she did not. Slowly, he began kissing her palms, yet she did not stir. Her breathing was very superficial. She appeared almost in a reverie. He recalled vividly their first kiss, bowing his head over her fair face, trying to superimpose that one memory over the harsh reality of the present. He willed himself to see only that memory, relive that experience wholly. Her sweet breath washed over him even as his tears cascaded down his cheeks, gently moistening her lifeless lips. Deeper and deeper the kiss became as the memories turned older; how had he ever survived her exile? It was he who had been punished the most, not her. He let out a wounded primal yell as she did not respond. For one brief moment her sea-gray eyes opened. He cried out in his deepest grief and anguish, wept at the steep cost his pride and prejudice had paid. There was none who could ever replace her, none he would ever tell "_Gerich veleth nín_!" Vanimë had always been his most beautiful sunrise; now she was his final sunset.


	40. Epilogue

Hello all. This is to let anyone interested in the sequel of this story know that it's up, and is called _The Circles of the Worlds_. Thanks.


	41. Revisions

I just want everyone to know that I am re-uploading the chapters from 1-16. The content will be replaced with the newer edition of the story. Since I started working on this story again last year I have revised the plot quite a bit. Just wanted everyone to know; thanks.


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